All Poems

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Strong as Death

© Henry Cuyler Bunner

Death, when thou shalt come to me
Out of thy dark, where she is now,
Let no faint perfume cling to thee
Of withered roses on thy brow.

Fortune

© Geoffrey Chaucer

This wrecched worldes transmutacioun,

As wele or wo, now povre and now honour,

Late Spring

© Judith Wright

The moon drained white by day

lifts from the hill

Love Me

© Sara Teasdale

Brown Thrush singing all day long
In the leaves above me,
Take my love this little song,
"Love me, love me, love me!"

View From The Top Of Black Comb

© William Wordsworth

THIS Height a ministering Angel might select:
For from the summit of BLACK COMB (dread name
Derived from clouds and storms!) the amplest range
Of unobstructed prospect may be seen

A Preference

© Edgar Albert Guest

I'D rather be considered dull

Than use my brain denouncing things;

The Electric Tram To Kew

© Lesbia Harford

Through the swift night
I go to my love.
Tram bells are joy bells,
Bidding us move

Rain at the Zoo by Kristen Tracy: American Life in Poetry #177 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2

Kristen Tracy is a poet from San Francisco who here captures a moment at a zoo. It's the falling rain, don't you think, that makes the experience of observing the animals seem so perfectly truthful and vivid?

Rain at the Zoo

Sonnet: All My Thoughts

© Dante Alighieri

All my thoughts always speak to me of love,

Yet have between themselves such difference

A Vision Of Repentance

© Charles Lamb

I saw a famous fountain, in my dream,
Where shady path-ways to a valley led;
A weeping willow lay upon that stream,
And all around the fountain brink were spread
Wide branching trees, with dark green leaf rich clad,
Forming a doubtful twilight-desolate and sad.

Wildflowers And Hot-House Plants

© Henrik Johan Ibsen

"GOOD Heavens, man, what a freak of taste!

What blindness to form and feature!

The Shipwrecked Sailor

© Harry Kemp

There blossomed into golden day another rosy morn:
The ship-wrecked sailor woke, and watched again, of hope forlorn,
From his high, purple-misted peak, a rag about his hip:
His only dream, his native land - his only prayer, a ship!

My Winter Rose

Why did you come when the trees were bare?
Why did you come with the wintry air?
When the faint note dies in the robin's throat,
And the gables drip and the white flakes float?

Homer's Battle Of The Frogs And Mice. Book II

When rosy-finger'd Morn had ting'd the Clouds,
Around their Monarch-Mouse the Nation crouds,
Slow rose the Monarch, heav'd his anxious Breast,
And thus, the Council fill'd with Rage, addrest.

How happy are the newborn race,
Partakers of adopting grace!
How pure the bliss they share!
Hid from the world and all its eyes,
Within their heart the blessing lies,
And conscience feels it there.