All Poems

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Macaulay

© Walter Savage Landor

THE DREAMY rhymers measurd snore
Falls heavy on our ears no more;
And by long strides are left behind
The dear delights of woman-kind,

Tasso And His Sister

© Felicia Dorothea Hemans

She sat, where on each wind that sigh'd,

The citron's breath went by,

for revenge upon those who were strong
Cattle speared at the first, blacks shot down,
and the blood of their babes, even, shed;
Blood that stains the same hue as our own.
It is written, red blood will have red !

My Old Kentucky Home, Good Night!

© Stephen C. Foster

The sun shines bright in the old Kentucky home,

'Tis summer, the darkies are gay,

Reflections Suggested By Winter

© James Thomson

'Tis done! dread winter spreads its latest glooms,
And reigns tremendous o'er the conquer'd year.
How dead the vegetable kingdom lies!
How dumb the tuneful! Horror wide extends

Dawn

© John Ford

Fly hence, shadows, that do keep

Watchful sorrows charm'd in sleep!

The Triumph of the People

© Henry Lawson

LO, the gods of Vice and Mammon from their pinnacles are hurled
By the workers new religion, which is oldest in the world;
And the earth will feel her children treading firmly on the sod,
For the triumph of the People is the victory of God.

Instead of Sitting Wrapped up in Flannel

© Thomas Love Peacock

Instead of sitting wrapped up in flannel

With rheumatism in every joint,

The Salad. By Virgil

© William Cowper

The winter night now well nigh worn away,
The wakeful cock proclaimed approaching day,
When Simulus, poor tenant of a farm
Of narrowest limits, heard the shrill alarm,

Drawing Near The Light

© William Morris

Lo, when we wade the tangled wood,
In haste and hurry to be there,
Nought seem its leaves and blossoms good,
For all that they be fashioned fair.

The Soldier's Return to His Home

© Robert Bloomfield

My untried muse shall no high tone assume,

Nor strut in arms - farewell, my cap and plume!

Knowledge

© Archibald Lampman

Oh for a life of leisure and broad hours,
To think and dream, to put away small things,
This world's perpetual leaguer of dull naughts;
To wander like the bee among the flowers
Till old age find us weary, feet and wings
Grown heavy with the gold of many thoughts.

Extempore Lines

© Henry Kendall

A MORNING crowns the Western hill,

A day begins to reign,

Niagara

© Jose Maria de Heredia y Campuzano

My lyre! give me my lyre! My bosom feels
The glow of inspiration. Oh how long
Have I been left in darkness since this light
Last visited my brow, Niagara!
Thou with thy rushing waters dost restore
The heavenly gift that sorrow took away.

The Task: Book I. -- The Sofa

I sing the Sofa. I who lately sang

Truth, Hope, and Charity, and touched with awe

Music

Surely not painful ever, yet not glad,
Shall such hours be to me, but blindly sweet,
Sharp with all yearning and all fact at strife,
Dreams that shine by with unremembered feet,
And tones that like far distance make this life
Spectral and wonderful and strangely sad.

The Boy In Church

'Gabble-gabble . . . brethren . . . gabble-gabble!'
My window glimpses larch and heather.
I hardly hear the tuneful babble,
Not knowing nor much caring whether
The text is praise or exhortation,
Prayer of thanksgiving or damnation.

Periander

How died Melissa none dares shape in words.
A woman who is wife despotic lords
Count faggot at the question, Shall she live!
Her son, because his brows were black of her,
Runs barking for his bread, a fugitive,
And Corinth frowns on them that feed the cur.