All Poems

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John Keats,

© George Gordon Byron

Who killed John Keats?
'I,' says the Quarterly,
So savage and Tartarly;
''Twas one of my feats.'

For Whittiers Seventieth Birthday

© Oliver Wendell Holmes

I BELIEVE that the copies of verses I've spun,
Like Scheherezade's tales, are a thousand and one;
You remember the story,--those mornings in bed,--
'T was the turn of a copper,--a tale or a head.

Gemini And Virgo

© Charles Stuart Calverley

Some vast amount of years ago,
Ere all my youth had vanished from me,
A boy it was my lot to know,
Whom his familiar friends called Tommy.

"Below The Sunsets Range Of Rose"

Below the sunset's range of rose,
Below the heaven's deepening blue,
Down woodways where the balsam blows,
And milkweed tufts hang, gray with dew,
A Jersey heifer stops and lows-
The cows come home by one, by two.

A Girls' Grave

© Patrick Edward Quinn

What story is here of broken love,
What idyllic sad romance,
What arrow fretted the silken dove
That met with such grim mischance?

To the memory of my dear Daughter in Law, Mrs. Mercy Bradstreet, who deceased Sept. 6. 1669. in the

© Anne Bradstreet

And live I still to see Relations gone,

And yet survive to sound this wailing tone;

When You Are Old

© William Ernest Henley

Dear Heart, it shall be so. Under the sway
Of death the pasts enormous disarray
Lies hushed and dark. Yet though there come no sign,
Live on well pleased: immortal and divine
Love shall still tend you, as Gods angels may,
When you are old.

Bitter Strawberries

© Sylvia Plath

All morning in the strawberry field
They talked about the Russians.
Squatted down between the rows
We listened.
We heard the head woman say,
'Bomb them off the map.'

A Pauper

© Allen Tate

I see him old, trapped in a burly house
Cold in the angry spitting of a rain
Come down these sixty years.

The Brother Of Mercy

© John Greenleaf Whittier

Piero Luca, known of all the town
As the gray porter by the Pitti wall
Where the noon shadows of the gardens fall,
Sick and in dolor, waited to lay down
His last sad burden, and beside his mat
The barefoot monk of La Certosa sat.

Song

© Arthur Symons

O why is it that a curl

Or the eyelash of a girl,

Composed Upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802

© William Wordsworth

Earth has not anything to show more fair:

Dull would he be of soul who could pass by

Ancora

© Ezra Pound

Good God! They say you are risqué,

O canzonetti!

The Golden Legend: V. A Covered Bridge At Lucerne

_Prince Henry_ The grim musician
Leads all men through the mazes of that dance,
To different sounds in different measures moving;
Sometimes he plays a lute, sometimes a drum,
To tempt or terrify.