All Poems
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Sonnet. "Nay, let the Past be past, nor strive in vain"
© Frances Anne Kemble
Nay, let the Past be past, nor strive in vain,
From the dim backward vista of our years
When I Loved You
© Thomas Moore
When I loved you, I can't but allow
I had many an exquisite minute;
But the scorn that I feel for you now
Hath even more luxury in it!
Dil Grafta Hi Sahi
© Ahmad Faraz
دل گِرفتہ ہی سہی بزم سجا لی جائے
یادِ جاناں سے کوئی شام نہ خالی جائے
Right Of Way
© Henry Herbert Knibbs
"Save your hoss for the hills ahead," is the cowboy's placid song.
While his clear eyes follow the twinkling train as the Titan speeds along;
Morel Mushrooms by Jane Whitledge: American Life in Poetry #102 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-
© Ted Kooser
Those of us who have hunted morel mushrooms in the early spring have hunted indeed! The morel is among nature's most elusive species. Here Jane Whitledge of Minnesota captures the morel's mysterious ways.
Morel Mushrooms
Softly they come
thumbing up from
firm ground
Written In The Year 1779, When The Combined Fleets Were Off Plymouth
© Henry James Pye
When the keen axe remorseless laid
The woods of Edgecombe low,
Old Rhythm And Rhyme
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Below in the village a church bell was chiming,
And back in the woodland a little bird sang;
And, doubt it who will, yet those two sounds were rhyming,
As out o'er the hill-tops they echoed and rang.
Lamia Unveiled
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
HER step is soft as a fay's footfall,
And her eyes are wonderful founts of blue;
But I've seen that small foot spurning hearts,
And the soul that burns so strangely through
Those orbs of blue,
O! is't a human soul at all?
A Reed Shaken In The Wind
© Madison Julius Cawein
To say to hope,--Take all from me,
And grant me naught:
The rose, the song, the melody,
The word, the thought:
Then all my life bid me be slave,--
Is all I crave.
A Childs Treasures
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Thou art home at last, my darling one,
Flushed and tired with thy play,
Italy : 9. The Alps
© Samuel Rogers
Who first beholds those everlasting clouds,
Seed-time and harvest, morning, noon and night,
Still where they were, steadfast, immovable;
Those mighty hills, so shadowy, so sublime,
England! The Time Is Come When Thou Shouldst Wean
© William Wordsworth
ENGLAND! the time is come when thou should'st wean
Thy heart from its emasculating food;
The truth should now be better understood;
Old things have been unsettled; we have seen
Love's Worship Restored
© Robert Fuller Murray
O Love, thine empire is not dead,
Nor will we let thy worship go,
Battle Bunny (Malvern Hill, 1864)
© Francis Bret Harte
Till a flash, not all of steel,
Where the rolling caissons wheel,
Brought a rumble and a roar
Rolling down that velvet floor,
And like blows of autumn flail
Sharply threshed the iron hail.
Stars
© Robert Laurence Binyon
And must I deem you mortal as my kind,
O solemn stars, that to man's doubtful mind
So long have seemed, 'mid the world's fallen kings
And glories gone, the sole eternal things;
The Cyclamen
© Arlo Bates
OVER the plains where Persian hosts
Laid down their lives for glory
Flutter the cyclamens, like ghosts
That witness to their story.
Oh, fair! Oh, white! Oh, pure as snow!
On countless graves how sweet they grow!
Thomas The Pretender
© James Whitcomb Riley
Tommy's alluz playin' jokes,
An' actin' up, an' foolin' folks;
Hymn
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Then, rob'd in darkness and in clouds,
That solemn veil thy glory shrouds;
Chaos and night thy dark pavilion form;
Thy spirit on the whirlwind rides,
Impels the unresisting tides,
Glares in the lightning, rushes in the storm!
The Thought-Reader Of Angels
© Francis Bret Harte
We hev tumbled ez dust
Or ez worms of the yearth;
Wot we looked for hez bust!
We are objects of mirth!
They have played us--old Pards of the river!--they hev played us for
all we was worth!
