All Poems

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To Songs At the Marriage Of The Lord Fauconberg And The Lad

© Andrew Marvell

Endymion
Cynthia, O Cynthia, turn thine Ear,
nor scorn Endymions plaints to hear.
As we our Flocks, so you command
The fleecy Clouds with silver wand.

Unfolding the Flocks

© Beaumont and Fletcher

Shepherds, rise, and shake off sleep -

See the blushing morn doth peep

Achievement.

© Robert Crawford

In life's exigencies men have been known
To pass themselves, and to attain to more
Than hope; as if in combat with the gods
The god in them secured supremacy.

Hark! What is that we hear?
A quick-jerked, jocund peal,
Making the fretted church tower reel,
Telling the wakeful of a young New Year,
Young, but of lusty birth,
To face the masked vicissitudes of earth.

Blades

© Padraic Colum

But no one drew meaning from the song
As he made an equal edge along
One side of the blade and the other one,
And polished the surface till it shone.

The Vine

© Henry James Pye

Like clustering tents upon the embattled mead,

See Vitis thick her small pavilions spread.

Lords Of The Visionary Eye

© Madison Julius Cawein

I CAME upon a pool that shone,
Clear, emerald-like, among the hills,
That seemed old wizards round a stone
Of magic that a vision thrills.

When We Understand The Plan

© Edgar Albert Guest

I reckon when the world we leave
And cease to smile and cease to grieve,
When each of us shall quit the strife
And drop the working tools of life,
Somewhere, somehow, we'll come to find
Just what our Maker had in mind.

Unphilosophic

© Edgar Albert Guest

Let philosophers say that it's all for the best
No matter what happens awry,
I defy one to smile who spills pie on his vest,
Especially loose pumpkin pie.

Sonnet LXXXV: Vain Virtues

© Dante Gabriel Rossetti

What is the sorriest thing that enters Hell?

None of the sins,but this and that fair deed

Angels At The Foot

© Christina Georgina Rossetti

Angels at the foot,
And Angels at the head,
And like a curly little lamb
My pretty babe in bed.

The Jolly Dead March

© Henry Lawson

If I ever be worthy or famous

Which Im sadly beginning to doubt

A Ballad Of The Wailing Ghost

© Dora Sigerson Shorter

An evil prayer rose to my lip
"Lord! This my soul's relief,
To hold her slender hands in mine,
And know her secret grief."

Cleave Thou The Waves

© Mathilde Blind

No longer on the golden-fretted sands,
Where many a shallow tide abortive chafes,
Mayst thou delay; life onward sweeping blends
With far-off heaven: the dauntless one who braves
The perilous flood with calm unswerving hands,
The elements sustain: cleave thou the waves.

The Laureate

Like a lizard in the sun, though not scuttling
When men approach, this wretch, this thing of rage,
Scowls and sits rhyming in his horny age.

Lux Perdita

Thine were the weak, slight hands
That might have taken this strong soul, and bent
Its stubborn substance to thy soft intent,
And bound it unresisting, with such bands
As not the arm of envious heaven had rent.

To My Brooklet. (From The French Of Ducis)

Thou brooklet, all unknown to song,
Hid in the covert of the wood!
Ah, yes, like thee I fear the throng,
Like thee I love the solitude.

Leaves

On the dry brown bough

The withered leaves still cling

To Mrs. Goodchild

The night-wind's shriek is pitiless and hollow,
The boding bat flits by on sullen wing,
And I sit desolate, like that "one swallow"
Who found (with horror) that he'd not brought spring:
Lonely as he who erst with venturous thumb
Drew from its pie-y lair the solitary plum.