All Poems

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Evening

© Archibald Lampman

From upland slopes I see the cows file by,
Lowing, great-chested, down the homeward trail,
By dusking fields and meadows shining pale
With moon-tipped dandelions. Flickering high,

The Decay Of A People

© William Gilmore Simms

THIS the true sign of ruin to a race

It undertakes no march, and day by day

WHAT is it that is dead?
Somewhere there is a grave, and something lies
Cold in the ground, and stirs not for my sighs,
Nor songs that I can make, nor smiles from me,
Nor tenderest foolish words that I have said;
Something that was has hushed, and will not be.

The Violet And The Rose

© Augusta Davies Webster

The violet in the wood, that's sweet to-day,

Is longer sweet than roses of red June;

In Arcady

© Madison Julius Cawein

I remember, when a child,

How within the April wild

On A Late Impiric Of Balmy Memory

© Charles Lamb

His namesake, born of Jewish breeder,
Knew "from the Hyssop to the Cedar;"
But he, unlike the Jewish leader,
Scarce knew the Hyssop from the Cedar.

Invitation To Eternity

© John Clare

Say, wilt thou go with me, sweet maid,

Say, maiden, wilt thou go with me

Herbal

© Katharine Tynan

Love-lies-bleeding now is found
Grown in every common ground.
Love-lies-bleeding thrives apace
With the dear forget-me-not:
Nor is boy's love out of place
Now in any garden plot.

The Orphan Maid

© Sir Walter Scott

November's hail-cloud drifts away,

November's sunbeam wan

Marriage Song

© Yehudah HaLevi

Fair is my dove, my loved one,
None can with her compare:
Yea, comely as Jerusalem,
Like unto Tirzah fair.

The Friendly Greeting

© Edgar Albert Guest

Oh, we have friends in England, and we have friends in France,
And should we have to travel there through some strange circumstance,
Undaunted we should sail away, and gladly should we go,
Because awaiting us would be somebody that we know.

Idyll XVII. The Praise of Ptolemy

© Theocritus

"Wake, babe, to bliss: prize me, as Phoebus doth
His azure-sphered Delos: grace the hill
Of Triops, and the Dorians' sister shores,
As king Apollo his Rhenaea's isle."

To My Readers

© Oliver Wendell Holmes

NAY, blame me not; I might have spared
Your patience many a trivial verse,
Yet these my earlier welcome shared,
So, let the better shield the worse.

Composed By The Sea-Side, Near Calais, August 1802

© William Wordsworth

FAIR Star of evening, Splendour of the west,
Star of my Country!--on the horizon's brink
Thou hangest, stooping, as might seem, to sink
On England's bosom; yet well pleased to rest,

Verbal Calisthenics

© Sylvia Plath

My love for you is more
athletic than a verb,
Agile as a star
The tents of sun absorb.

Thou Also

Cry out upon the crime, and then let slip

The dogs of hate, whose hanging muzzles track

To My Sister

Were it not so, I dared not give to thee

These pages; for I know full well they ne'er

Pardon

Those ends in war the best contentment bring,

Whose peace is made up with a pardoning.

Seventh Sunday After Trinity

© John Keble

Go not away, thou weary soul:
Heaven has in store a precious dole
Here on Bethsaida's cold and darksome height,
Where over rocks and sands arise
Proud Sirion in the northern skies,
And Tabor's lonely peak, 'twixt thee and noonday light.