All Poems
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Maybe
© Carl Sandburg
Maybe the wind on the prairie,
The wind on the sea, maybe,
Somebody, somewhere, maybe can tell.
Ballad Of The Press-Gang At Shihao Village
© Du Fu
One evening I found lodging in a village where
A press-gang stole by night to seize my aging host,
Breitmann As An Uhlan. V. Breitmanns Last Party.
© Charles Godfrey Leland
VOT gollops at mitnight,
Mit h'roolah and yell,
Like der teufel's wild yager
Boorst loose out of hell?
Shock-headed Peter
© Heinrich Hoffmann
Just look at him! there he stands,
With his nasty hair and hands.
Stanzas Written By Thomson On The Blank Leaf Of A Copy Of His 'Seasons' Sent By Him To Mr. Lyttleton
© James Thomson
Go, little book, and find our Friend,
Who Nature and the Muses loves,
Who cares the public virtues blend
With all the softness of the groves.
The Merryman and His Maid
© William Schwenck Gilbert
[HE] I have a song to sing, O!
[SHE] Sing me your song, O!
Epilogue
© John Berryman
He died in December. He must descend
Somewhere, vague and cold, the spirit and seal.
Somewhere, Imagination ones one friend
Cannot see there. Both of us at the end.
Nouns, verbs do not exist for what I feel.
A Love Secret
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Love has its secrets, joy has its revealings.
How shall I speak of that which love has hid?
If my beloved shall return to greet me,
Deeds shall be done for her none ever did.
An Appearance
© Sylvia Plath
The smile of iceboxes annihilates me.
Such blue currents in the veins of my loved one!
I hear her great heart purr.
The Martyrdom Of St. Christina, By Vincenzo Catena, In The Church Of Santa Maria Mater Domini, At Ve
© Richard Monckton Milnes
ST. CHRISTINA.
(KNEELING.)
I knew, I knew, it would be so,
That, in this long--expected hour,
Preparations For Victory
© Edmund Blunden
My soul, dread not the pestilence that hags
The valley; flinch not you, my body young.
Lines Written On The Sunny Side Of Frankfort Street
© Franklin Pierce Adams
Sporting with Amaryllis in the shade,
(I credit Milton in parenthesis),
Among the speculations that she made
Was this:
Trysting Time
© Confucius
A pretty girl at time o' gloaming
Hath whispered me to go and meet her
Without the city gate.
I love her, but she tarries coming.
Shall I return, or stay and greet her?
I burn, and wait.
In Oblivion
© Peter McArthur
COME, friend, there's going to be a merry meeting
After the play. Our masks we'll throw aside,
Torto Volitans Sub Verbere Turbo Quem Pueri Magno In Gyro Vacua Atria Circum Intenti Ludo Exercent
© James Clerk Maxwell
Of pearies and their origin I sing:
How at the first great Jove the lord of air
Jeckoyva
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
They made the warrior's grave beside
The dashing of his native time:
The Last Coach
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
Before her mirror in a pouting mood,
Afraid to weep lest anger should revoke
The Wild Colonial Boy
© Anonymous
'Tis of a wild Colonial Boy, Jack Doolan was his name,
Of poor but honest parents he was born in Castlemaine.
He was his father's only hope, his mother's pride and joy,
And dearly did his parents love the wild Colonial Boy.
"Whenever I think of you, you are alone"
© Lesbia Harford
Whenever I think of you, you are alone,
Shut by yourself between
Great walls of stone.
There is a stool, I think, and a table there,
The Worlds Exile
© Richard Monckton Milnes
Well, I will tell you, kind adviser,
Why thus I ever roam
In distant lands, nor wish to guide
My footsteps to the fair hill--side
Where stands my sacred home.
