All Poems

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The Event.

© Adelaide Crapsey

Lo, how they weave - the imperturbable three -

Those threads that are my destiny:

Plenty In A Time Of Dearth

© John Newton

My soul once had its plenteous years,
And throve, with peace and comfort filled,
Like the fat kine and ripened ears,
Which Pharaoh in his dream beheld.

My Orders

© Ethelwyn Wetherald

My orders are to fight;

Then if I bleed, or fail,

Resigning

© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik

"Poor heart, what bitter words we speak

When God speaks of resigning!"

Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,

© Sir Walter Scott

Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking:

Elegiac II.

© Arthur Hugh Clough

Trunks the forest yielded with gums ambrosial oozing,
Boughs with apples laden beautiful, Hesperian,
Golden, odoriferous, perfume exhaling about them,
Orbs in a dark umbrage luminous and radiant;

A Valentine To My Wife

© Eugene Field

Accept, dear girl, this little token,
And if between the lines you seek,
You'll find the love I've often spoken
The love my dying lips shall speak.

Day And Night

© Sara Teasdale

IN Warsaw in Poland
Half the world away,
The one I love best of all
Thought of me to-day;

In The Half-Way House

© James Russell Lowell

I

At twenty we fancied the blest Middle Ages

The Palatine

© John Greenleaf Whittier

Leagues north, as fly the gull and auk,
Point Judith watches with eye of hawk;
Leagues south, thy beacon flames, Montauk!

Oneata

© Alan Seeger

A hilltop sought by every soothing breeze

That loves the melody of murmuring boughs,

The Perfect Present.

© Arthur Henry Adams

SO I have kissed you! And this hour is mine.
Its light along the level future lasts,
It crowns a drab eternity of Pasts!
Here soul and soul have crossed the border-line

The Sunset

There late was One within whose subtle being,
As light and wind within some delicate cloud
That fades amid the blue noon's burning sky,
Genius and death contended. None may know

To J.M.B.

'Oh, were I a heliotrope,
I would play poet,
And blow a breeze of fragrance
To you; and none should know it.

The fisherman draws his streaming net from the sea
And sails toward the far-off city, that seems
Like one vague tower.
The dark bow plunges to foam on blue-black waves,
And shrill rain seethes like a ghostly music about him
In a quiet shower.