All Poems

/ page 1261 of 3210 /

Order by :

A Gotham Garden Of Verses

© Franklin Pierce Adams

In summer when the days are hot
The subway is delayed a lot;
In winter, quite the selfsame thing;
In autumn also, and in spring.

Inscription under the Picture of an Aged Negro-woman

© James Montgomery

Art thou a woman? - so am I; and all

That woman can be, I have been, or am;

On A Ruined Castle, Near The Rhine

© Richard Monckton Milnes

This was a fortress, firm and stout,
When there was battling round about,--
It has been deckt in gala--plight,
In days of ladie--love and knight,--

Sonnet To A Friend

© Charles Lamb

Friend of my earliest years and childish days,

My joys, my sorrows, thou with me hast shared,

O Muses, Accourez

© André Marie de Chénier

O muses, accourez; solitaires divines,

Amantes des ruisseaux, des grottes, des collines!

Lost Opportunities

© Edgar Albert Guest

"When I am rich," he used to say,

"A thousand joys I'll give away;

June

© George Frederick Cameron

O crimson-hearted, flower-producing June-

Dear month of love, and laughter, and light song!

A May Burden

© Francis Thompson

Though meadow-ways as I did tread,
The corn grew in great lustihead,
And hey! the beeches burgeoned.
By Goddes fay, by Goddes fay!
It is the month, the jolly month,
It is the jolly month of May.

A Word To Philosophers

© Christopher Pearse Cranch

COLD philosophers, so apt
With your formulas exacting,
In your problems so enwrapt,
And your theories distracting;

Sunday Next Before Advent

© John Keble

Will God indeed with fragments bear,

Snatched late from the decaying year?

Incantation.

© Adelaide Crapsey

O mia Luna! Porta mi fortuna!

(You must say it nine times, curtseying, and then wish.)

I wantit pleadedAll its life

© Emily Dickinson

"I want"it pleadedAll its life
I wantwas chief it said
When Skill entreated itthe last
And when so newly dead

The Storm

© Felicia Dorothea Hemans

Fear was within the tossing bark,
When stormy winds grew loud;
And waves came rolling high and dark,
And the tall mast was bowed.

An Apology To The Earl Of Orrery

© Mary Barber

Not Persia's Monarch could, unmov'd, survey
Those num'rous Hosts, which Time must sweep away:
He wept Misfortunes of a distant Date;
I mourn the Rigour of my instant Fate:

Schoolmistress
Having, with bold Horatius, stamped her feet
And waved a final swashing arabesque
O'er the brave days of old, she ceased to bleat,
Slapped her Macaulay back upon the desk,
Resuned her calm gaze and her lofty seat.

Drought

I have withered the grass where my hot hoofs tread,
I have whitened the sapless trees,
I have driven the faint-heart rains ahead
To hide in their soft green seas.