All Poems
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Autumn Morning at Cambridge
© Frances Darwin Cornford
I RAN out in the morning, when the air was clean and new,
And all the grass was glittering and grey with autumn dew,
I ran out to the apple tree and pulled an apple down,
And all the bells were ringing in the old grey town.
O, Vrba, Happy Village, My Old Hme
© France Preseren
O, Vrba, happy village, my old home -
My father's cottage stands there to this day.
The lure of learning beckoned me away.
Its serpent wiles enticing me to roam,
Kings Chapel
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
Is it a weanling's weakness for the past
That in the stormy, rebel-breeding town,
Swept clean of relics by the levelling blast,
Friar Pedro's Ride
© Francis Bret Harte
It was the morning season of the year;
It was the morning era of the land;
Hymn For The Inauguration Of The Statue Of Governor Andrew
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
BEHOLD the shape our eyes have known!
It lives once more in changeless stone;
So looked in mortal face and form
Our guide through peril's deadly storm.
To Mrs. Throckmorton, On Her Beautiful Transcript Of Horace's Ode Ad Librum Suum
© William Cowper
Maria, could Horace have guessed
What honour awaited his ode
To his little volume addressed,
The honour which you have bestowed,--
Midsummer
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
HERE! sweep these foolish leaves away,
I will not crush my brains to-day!
Look! are the southern curtains drawn?
Fetch me a fan, and so begone!
The Trapeze Performer
© Stephen Vincent Benet
Over the sheer abyss so deadly-near,
He falls, like wine to its appointed cup,
Turns like a wheel of fireworks, and is mine.
Battering hands acclaim our triumph clear.
And steadfast muscles draw my sonnet up
To the firm iron of the fourteenth line.
No Time Like The Old Time
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
THERE is no time like the old time, when you and I were young,
When the buds of April blossomed, and the birds of spring-time sung!
The garden's brightest glories by summer suns are nursed,
But oh, the sweet, sweet violets, the flowers that opened first!
Cupid Abroad Was Lated
© Robert Greene
CUPID abroad was lated in the night,
His wings were wet with ranging in the rain;
Harbor he sought, to me he took his flight
To dry his plumes. I heard the boy complain:
I oped the door and granted his desire,
I rose myself, and made the wag a fire.
Morale
© Charles Cros
Orner le monde avec son corps, avec son âme,
Etre aussi beau quon peut dans nos sombres milieux,
Dire haut ce quon rêve et quon aime le mieux,
Cest le devoir, pour tout homme et pour toute femme.
The Merchant
© Rabindranath Tagore
Imagine, mother, that you are to stay at home and I am to travel
into strange lands.
Geraldine
© Madison Julius Cawein
Ah, Geraldine, lost Geraldine,
That night of love, when first we met,
You have forgotten, Geraldine--
I never dreamed you would forget.
Nahant
© Sara Teasdale
BOWED as an elm under the weight of its beauty,
So earth is bowed, under her weight of splendor,
Molten sea, richness of leaves and the burnished
Bronze of sea-grasses.
To Thyrza
© George Gordon Byron
Without a stone to mark the spot,
And say, what Truth might well have said,
By all, save one, perchance forgot,
Ah! wherefore art thou lowly laid?
