All Poems

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Storm-Wind

© Boris Pasternak

I am finished, but you live on.

And the wind, crying and moaning,

Elegy IV. Ophilia's Urn. To Mr. Graves

© William Shenstone

Through the dim veil of evening's dusky shade,
Near some lone fane, or yew's funereal green,
What dreary forms has magic Fear survey'd!
What shrouded spectres Superstition seen!

The Future Verdict

© Ada Cambridge

How will our unborn children scoff at us
In the good years to come,
The happier years to come,
Because, like driven sheep, we yielded thus,
Before the shearers dumb.

A Song

© Virna Sheard

Love maketh its own summer time,
'Tis June, Love, when we are together,
And little I care for the frost in the air,
For the heart makes its own summer weather.

In The Springtime

© Eugene Field

'T is spring! The boats bound to the sea;
The breezes, loitering kindly over
The fields, again bring herds and men
The grateful cheer of honeyed clover.

The Auncient Acquaintance, Madam, Betwen Vs Twayn

© John Skelton

The auncient acquaintance, madam, betwen vs twayn,

The famylyaryte, the formal dalyaunce,

Songs with Preludes: Friendship

© Jean Ingelow

Beautiful eyes,—and shall I see no more
The living thought when it would leap from them,
And play in all its sweetness ’neath their lids?

I Saw A New World

© William Brighty Rands

I SAW a new world in my dream,

Where all the folks alike did seem:

The Borrowed Axe

© John Newton

The prophets sons, in time of old,
Though to appearance poor;
Were rich without possessing gold,
And honoured, though obscure.

A Flower Of A Day

© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik

OLD friend, that with a pale and pensile grace
Climbest the lush hedgerows, art thou back again,
Marking the slow round of the wond'rous years?
Didst beckon me a moment, silent flower?

An Evening Thought

© Jupiter Hammon

Salvation comes by Jesus Christ alone,

The only Son of God;

Impromptu

© George Gordon Byron

Beneath Blessington's eyes
The reclaimed Paradise
Should be free as the former from evil;
But if the new Eve
For an Apple should grieve,
What mortal would not play the Devil.

The Horologe Of The Fields

© Charlotte Turner Smith

Addressed to a Young Lady, on seeing at the House of an

Acquaintance a magnificent French Timepiece.

Every Day

The medal is awarded
when nothing more happens,
when the artillery falls silent,
when the enemy has grown invisible
and the shadow of eternal armament
covers the sky.

In The Season

IT is the season now to go

About the country high and low,

The Ballad of Minepit Shaw

About the time that taverns shut
And men can buy no beer,
Two lads went up to the keepers' hut
To steal Lord Pelham's deer.

O Versaille, ô bois, ô portiques,
Marbres vivants, berceaux antiques,
Par les dieux et les rois Élysée embelli,
A ton aspect, dans ma pensée,
Comme sur l'herbe aride une fraîche rosée,
Coule un peu de calme et d'oubli.

Carmen XLVI

Now spring is bringing back the warmer days,

Now the rage of the equinoctial sky

The Bag

Away despair; my gracious Lord doth heare,
Though windes and waves assault my keel,
He doth preserve it: he doth steer,
Ev'n when the boat seems most to reel.
Storms are the triumph of his art:
Well may he close his eyes, but not his heart.