All Poems
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The Logical Conclusion
© Ezra Pound
When earth's last thesis is copied
From the theses that went before,
Jamie And His MotherIn The Tropics
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
O MOTHER, what country is that I see
Far over the stream and the boulders gray,
Where the wind-song pipes, and the curlews flee,
And the little brown squirrels dance and play
Through the boughs all day
MOTHER.
John Lackland
© George Meredith
A wicked man is bad enough on earth;
But O the baleful lustre of a chief
Parody
© George Canning
For one long term, or e'er her trial came,
Here Brownrigg linger'd. Often have these cells
Remarks On The Bright And Dark Side
© Benjamin Tompson
But may a Rural Pen try to set forth
Such a Great Fathers Ancient Grace and worth
Egypt
© Thomas Bailey Aldrich
Fantastic sleep is busy with my eyes;
I seem in some waste solitude to stand
Hurrah For The Light Artillery!
© Anonymous
On the unstained sward of the gentle slope,
Full of valor and nerved by hope,
The infantry sways like a coming sea;
Why lingers the light artillery?
"Action front!"
When Coldness Wraps This Suffering Clay
© George Gordon Byron
When coldness wraps this suffering clay,
Ah! whither strays the immortal mind?
The Gift Of The Terek
© Mikhail Lermontov
Through the rocks in wildest courses
Seethes the Terek grim of mood,
Tempest howling its bewailing,
Pearled with foam its tearful flood.
On Entering Switzerland
© William Lisle Bowles
Languid, and sad, and slow, from day to day
I journey on, yet pensive turn to view
A Day
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Talk not of sad November, when a day
Of warm, glad sunshine fills the sky of noon,
And a wind, borrowed from some morn of June,
Stirs the brown grasses and the leafless spray.
The Last Suttee
© Rudyard Kipling
Udai Chand lay sick to death
In his hold by Gungra hill.
All night we heard the death-gongs ring
For the soul of the dying Rajpoot King,
All night beat up from the women's wing
A cry that we could not still.
Miserie
© George Herbert
Lord, let the Angels praise thy name.
Man is a foolish thing, a foolish thing,
Folly and Sinne play all his game.
His house still burns; and yet he still doth sing,
Man is but grasse,
He knows it, fill the glasse.
When Friends Drop In
© Edgar Albert Guest
It may be I'm old-fashioned, but the times I like the best
Are not the splendid parties with the women gaily dressed,
And the music tuned for dancing and the laughter of the throng,
With a paid comedian's antics or a hired musician's song,
But the quiet times of friendship, with the chuckles and the grin,
And the circle at the fireside when a few good friends drop in.
Jerusalem Delivered - Book 06 - part 04
© Torquato Tasso
XLIII
The Pagan ill defenced with sword or targe,
The Renewal
© Robert Laurence Binyon
No more of sorrow, the world's old distress,
Nor war of thronging spirits numberless,
Immortal ardours in brief days confined,
No more the languid fever of mankind
Fortune
© Madison Julius Cawein
Within the hollowed hand of God,
Blood-red they lie, the dice of fate,
That have no time nor period,
And know no early and no late.
