All Poems

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One With The Ruined Sunset

© William Ernest Henley

One with the ruined sunset,
The strange forsaken sands,
What is it waits, and wanders,
And signs with desparate hands?

A fountain issuing into light
Before a marble palace, threw
To heaven its column, pure and bright,
Returning thence in showers of dew;
But soon a humbler course it took,
And glide away a nameless brook.

Silence

© Peter McArthur

One who was skilled in runes the gravings read,
And learned the wondrous image was the god
Of endless Silence. The searchers mutely bowed,
And mourned that faith so lofty should be dead;
And I their prone idolatry applaud
When strife and tumult in my paths are loud.

I Am A King

© Christina Georgina Rossetti

I am a King,

Or an Emperor rather,

Epigram: The World Is A Bundle Of Hay

© George Gordon Byron

The world is a bundle of hay,
Mankind are the asses who pull;
Each tugs it a different way,
And the greatest of all is John Bull.

Her Last Letter

© Wilcox Ella Wheeler

Sitting alone by the window,

Watching the moonlit street,

Fairies On The Sea Shore. By Howard

© Letitia Elizabeth Landon

FIRST FAIRY.

MY home and haunt are in every leaf,

At The Gate Of The Convent

© Alfred Austin

Beside the Convent Gate I stood,
Lingering to take farewell of those
To whom I owed the simple good
Of three days' peace, three nights' repose.

Lady Geraldine's Hardship

© Rudyard Kipling

I turned - Heaven knows we women turn too much

To broken reeds, mistaken so for pine

Chartless

© Emily Dickinson

I never saw a moor,
I never saw the sea;
Yet now I know how the heather looks,
And what a wave must be.

Shelley's Skylark.

© Thomas Hardy

Somewhere afield here something lies
In Earth's oblivious eyeless trust
That moved a poet to prophecies -
A pinch of unseen, unguarded dust

Laus Mortis

© Arthur Symons

I bring to thee, for love, white roses, delicate Death!

White lilies of the valley, dropping gentle tears,

The Night And The Rose

© Guido Gezelle

I have many an hour with you worn out and enjoyed

and never has an hour with you bored me for a moment.

Ma Boheme

© Arthur Rimbaud

And I listened to them, sitting on the road-sides on those pleasant
September evenings while I felt drops of dew on my forehead like
vigorous wine;

Song Of The Wandering Jew

THOUGH the torrents from their fountains
Roar down many a craggy steep,
Yet they find among the mountains
Resting-places calm and deep.

A Manchester Poem

'Tis a poor drizzly morning, dark and sad.
The cloud has fallen, and filled with fold on fold
The chimneyed city; and the smoke is caught,
And spreads diluted in the cloud, and sinks,
A black precipitate, on miry streets.
And faces gray glide through the darkened fog.

My Barometer

My little maid with golden hair
Comes each morning for a kiss;
And I know the day will be fine and fair
When Polly looks like this.

Boys Bathing

And colder than these waters are
The stream that takes your limbs at last:
Earth's vales and hills drift slowly past. . .
One shore far off, and one more far

First Snow

Outside the snowstorm spins, and hides
The world beneath a pall.
Snowed under are the paper-girl,
The papers and the stall.

Speckled Trout by Ron Rash: American Life in Poetry #28 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006

© Ted Kooser

Although this poem by North Carolina native Ron Rash may seem to be just about trout fishing, it is the first of several poems Rash has written about his cousin who died years ago. Indirectly, the poet gives us clues about this loss. By the end, we see that in passing from life to death, the fish's colors dull; so, too, may fade the memories of a cherished life long lost.