All Poems
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There Was A Boy
© William Wordsworth
There was a Boy; ye knew him well, ye cliffs
And islands of Winander! many a time,
Spectral Lovers
© John Crowe Ransom
By night they haunted a thicket of April mist,
Out of that black ground suddenly come to birth,
Else angels lost in each other and fallen on earth.
Lovers they knew they were, but why unclasped, unkissed?
Why should two lovers be frozen apart in fear?
And yet they were, they were.
Along The Paths O' Glory
© Edgar Albert Guest
Along the paths o' glory there are faces new to-day,
There are youthful hearts and sturdy that have found the westward way.
From the rugged roads o' duty they have turned without a sigh,
To mingle with their brothers who were not afraid to die.
And they're looking back and smiling at the loved ones left behind,
With the Old Flag flying o'er them, and they're calling "Never mind.
On The Dark Height of Jura
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
I.
Ghosts of the dead! have I not heard your yelling
Rise on the night-rolling breath of the blast,
When oer the dark aether the tempest is swelling,
And on eddying whirlwind the thunder-peal passed?
The Last Tournament
© Alfred Tennyson
To whom the King, `Peace to thine eagle-borne
Dead nestling, and this honour after death,
Following thy will! but, O my Queen, I muse
Why ye not wear on arm, or neck, or zone
Those diamonds that I rescued from the tarn,
And Lancelot won, methought, for thee to wear.'
Sonnet LXXXII. To The Shade Of Burns
© Charlotte Turner Smith
MUTE is thy wild harp, now, O bard sublime!
Who, amid Scotia's mountain solitude,
Great Nature taught to "build the lofty rhyme,"
And even beneath the daily pressure, rude,
Sonnet : To A Balloon Laden With Knowledge
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Bright ball of flame that through the gloom of even
Silently takest thine aethereal way,
And with surpassing glory dimm'st each ray
Twinkling amid the dark blue depths of Heaven,--
A Wreath Of Sonnets (2/14)
© France Preseren
A record of my pain and of your praise
Will this be to Slovenes as yet unborn,
When moss shall grow upon my tomb forlorn,
And over all that grieves me and dismays;
On A Shadow In A Glass
© Jonathan Swift
By something form'd, I nothing am,
Yet everything that you can name;
In no place have I ever been,
Yet everywhere I may be seen;
In Memoriam C. G. Gordon
© Mary Hannay Foott
Who art thou, girl, in warrior garb
St. Catherines sword in hand?
Tis La Pucelleand France is free;
O shame that thou must stand
Boundhelplessat the cruel stake,
To wait the headmans brand!
Truth And Falsehood. A Tale
© Matthew Prior
Poor Truth she stripp'd, as has been said,
And naked left the lovely maid,
Who, scorning from her cause to wince,
Has gone stark naked ever since,
And ever naked will appear,
Beloved by all who Truth revere.
Conquest
© Philippe Desportes
Those eyes that set my fancy on a fire,
Those crispéd hairs that hold my heart in chains,
A Hymn To Venus
© Sappho
O Venus, beauty of the skies,
To whom a thousand temples rise,
Gaily false in gentle smiles,
Full of love-perplexing wiles;
O goddess, from my heart remove
The wasting cares and pains of love.
"On a sleigh, padded with straw"
© Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
On a sleigh, padded with straw,
Barely covered by the fateful mat,
From the Vorobevy hills to the familiar chapel
We rode through enormous Moscow.
Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: XL
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
She went on talking like a running stream,
Without more reason or more pause or stay
Than to gather breath and then pursue her whim
Just where it led her, tender, sad, or gay.
November In Ireland
© Alice Guerin Crist
November days in Ireland
The skies are dull and grey,
But Oh! The clear strong flame of love,
That burns by night and day.
As swift and bright the whispered prayers fly to the Heavens O'erhead,
From faithful hearts in Ireland, remembering their dead.
Conclusion
© Arthur Rimbaud
The pigeons which flutter in the meadow,
the game which runs and sees in the dark,
