All Poems

/ page 1069 of 3210 /

Order by :

Rubaiyat 19

© Shams al-Din Hafiz

You can buy everyone with gold;
Either in one shot, or slowly are sold.
Even the narcissus, pride of the world,
Sold itself, why, its crown of gold behold.

To The Right Honourable The Lady Elizabeth Brownlow,

© Mary Barber

Who can the hardest Task refuse,
When lovely Lady Betty sues?
If her Requests Resistance find,
It must be from the Deaf and Blind.

The Song

© Paul Laurence Dunbar

MY soul, lost in the music's mist,

Roamed, rapt, 'neath skies of amethyst,

Bud

© Edgar Albert Guest

Who is it lives to the full every minute,

Gets all the joy and the fun that is in it?

I Ain't Dead Yet

© Edgar Albert Guest

Time was I used to worry and I'd sit around an' sigh,

And think with every ache I got that I was goin' to die,

Craqueodoom

© James Whitcomb Riley

The Crankadox leaned o'er the edge of the moon

And wistfully gazed on the sea

I had grown weary of him; of his breath
And hands and features I was sick to death.
Each day I heard the same dull voice and tread;
I did not hate him: but I wished him dead.
And he must with his blank face fill my life--
Then my brain blackened; and I snatched a knife.

The Children's Heaven

© George MacDonald

The infant lies in blessed ease

Upon his mother's breast;

Imogen

© Sir Henry Newbolt

(A Lady of Tender Age)

Ladies, where were your bright eyes glancing,

The Lighthouse

© Alaric Alexander Watts

Yes, Desolation, on her viewless wing,

Even now, perhaps, is speeding with the blast

Blue Mountain Pioneers

© Henry Kendall

The dauntless three! For twenty days and nights

These heroes battled with the haughty heights;

The Garden Refused

© Edith Nesbit

There is a garden made for our delight,
Where all the dreams we dare not dream come true.
I know it, but I do not know the way.
We slip and tumble in the doubtful night,
Where everything is difficult and new,
And clouds our breath has made obscure the day.

The Prisoner

All day I lie beneath the great pine tree,

Whose perfumed branches wave and shadow me.

The Broken Pitcher

It was a Moorish maiden was sitting by a well,
And what the maiden thought of, I cannot, cannot, tell,
When by there rode a valiant knight from the town of Oviedo,
Alphonso Guzman was he hight, the Count of Tololedo.

"I Was A Stranger, And Ye Took Me In"

'Neath skies that winter never knew
The air was full of light and balm,
And warm and soft the Gulf wind blew
Through orange bloom and groves of palm.

Musings

All who have toiled for Art, who've won or lost,
Sat equal priests at her high Pentecost;
Only the chrism and sacrament of flame,
Anointing all, inspired not all the same.