All Poems

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Old Letters --- English translation

© Rabindranath Tagore

I found some old letters today

You had secretly treasured them like toys

The King's Anxiety For His Morning Levee

How goes the night? For heavy morning sleep
Ill suits the king who men would loyal keep.
The courtyard, ruddy with the torch's light,
Proclaims unspent the deepest hour of night.
Already near the gate my lords appear;
Their tinkling bells salute my wakeful ear.

A Sultrier Dawn

© Boris Pasternak

All morning high up on the eaves

Above your window

A Sonnet

© James Kenneth Stephen

Two voices are there: one is of the deep;
It learns the storm-cloud's thunderous melody,
Now roars, now murmurs with the changing sea,
Now bird-like pipes, now closes soft in sleep:

Nova

© Robinson Jeffers

That Nova was a moderate star like our good sun; it stored no

doubt a little more than it spent

A Narrow Girdle Of Rough Stones And Crags,

© William Wordsworth

A narrow girdle of rough stones and crags,

A rude and natural causeway, interposed

The Rainbow Of Promise

© Wilcox Ella Wheeler

In the face of the sun are great thunderbolts hurled,
And the storm-clouds have shut out its light;
But a Rainbow of Promise now shines on the world,
And the universe thrills at the sight.

N. Y.

© Ezra Pound

My City, my beloved, my white! Ah, slender,
Listen! Listen to me, and I will breathe into thee a soul.
Delicately upon the reed, attend me!

Upon His Picture

© Thomas Randolph

When age hath made me what I am not now,

And every wrinkle tells me where the plow

Savnet

© Jens Baggesen

Af ængstlig Længsel nu mit Hierte gyser,

Min Siel er skiult i Nat, som Nordens Pol;

The Discontented Manicure Scissors

© Wilcox Ella Wheeler

Said the manicure scissors one day,
"The shears always have their own way,
And I think it absurd
That I am deterred
From entering into life's fray.

Lake Mists

© Paul Hamilton Hayne

AS I gazed on the prospect enchanted,
On waves the sun-glory had kissed,
There slowly swept down from the distance,
The phantom-like bands of the mist.

The Remount Train

© William Henry Ogilvie

Every head across the bar,

Every blaze and snip and star,

The White Bull

"Already a chorus rings out in the city,
A jubilant ditty,
And every guitar
Vibrates to the names of Pedro and Pilar;
And the strings and voices are soulless and dull
That sound not the name of the bold white bull!"

A New Heaven (To-On Active Service)

© Wilfred Owen

-Let's die home, ferry across the Channel! Thus
Shall we live gods there. Death shall be no sev'rance.
Weary cathedrals light new shrines for us.
To us, rough knees of boys shall ache with rev'rence.
Are not girls' breasts a clear, strong Acropole?
-There our oun mothers' tears shall heal us whole.