All Poems

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Down, indignation! hence, ideas foul!
Away the shocking image from my soul!
Let kindlier visitants attend my way,
Beneath approaching _Summer's_ fervid ray;
Nor thankless glooms obtrude, nor cares annoy,
Whilst the sweet theme is _universal joy_.

To Harriet

© Percy Bysshe Shelley

Thy look of love has power to calm
The stormiest passion of my soul;
Thy gentle words are drops of balm
In life's too bitter bowl;
No grief is mine, but that alone
These choicest blessings I have known.

Sea-Shore Memories

© Walt Whitman

Shine! shine! shine!
Pour down your warmth, great Sun!
While we bask-we two together.

Roundel

© Sara Teasdale

If he could know my songs are all for him,
At silver dawn or in the evening glow,
Would he not smile and think it but a whim,
If he could know?

Ultima Thule: Old St. David's At Radnor

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

What an image of peace and rest
Is this little church among its graves!
All is so quiet; the troubled breast,
The wounded spirit, the heart oppressed,
Here may find the repose it craves.

To Mrs. Professor In Defense Of My Cat's Honor And Not Only

© Czeslaw Milosz

My valiant helper, a small-sized tiger
Sleeps sweetly on my desk, by the computer,
Unaware that you insult his tribe.

My Hat!

© William Henry Ogilvie

The hats of a man may be many

In the course of a varied career,

The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part III: Gods And False Gods: LXXIV

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

THE MOCKERY OF LIFE
God! What a mockery is this life of ours!
Cast forth in blood and pain from our mother's womb,
Most like an excrement, and weeping showers

At Shelleys Grave

© Alfred Austin

Beneath this marble, mute of praise,

Is hushed the heart of One

Ode To Liberty

© William Taylor Collins

(STROPHE)

Who shall awake the Spartan fife,

Baloo Loo For Jenny

© Robert Graves

Sing baloo loo for Jenny
And where is she gone?
Away to spy her mother's land,
Riding all alone.

Queen Of Sheba

© John Newton

From Sheba a distant report

Of Solomon's glory and fame,

Little Bridget Flynn

© William Percy French

I've a nice slated house and a cow or two at grass,

I've a plant garden running by the door;

As By Fire

Sometimes I feel so passionate a yearning
For spiritual perfection here below,
This vigorous frame, with healthful fervor burning,
Seems my determined foe,

The Spilling Of The Wine

© Lola Ridge

The night has a rare savor.
Out of the snow-pilesaltar-high and colored as by a
rosy sacrifice Scented vapor
Ascends in a pale incense . . .
Faint astringent perfume
Of blood and wine.