All Poems
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The Treadmill Song
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
The stars are rolling in the sky,
The earth rolls on below,
Ghosts Of The Old Year
© James Weldon Johnson
The snow has ceased its fluttering flight,
The wind sunk to a whisper light,
This Unimportant Morning
© Lawrence Durrell
This unimportant morning
Something goes singing where
The capes turn over on their sides
And the warm Adriatic rides
Her blue and sun washing
At the edge of the world and its brilliant cliffs.
Child Of Dawn
© Harold Monro
I need thy hands, O gentle wonder-child,
For they are moulded unto all repose;
Thy lips are frail,
And thou art cooler than an April rose;
White are thy words and mild:
Child of the morning, hail!
The Poor Voter On Election Day
© John Greenleaf Whittier
THE proudest now is but my peer,
The highest not more high;
To-day, of all the weary year,
A king of men am I.
The Colder The Air
© Elizabeth Bishop
We must admire her perfect aim,
this huntress of the winter air
whose level weapon needs no sight,
if it were not that everywhere
her game is sure, her shot is right.
The least of us could do the same.
Prometheus
© George Gordon Byron
I.
Titan! to whose immortal eyes
The sufferings of mortality,
Seen in their sad reality,
Tournesol
© André Breton
La voyageuse qui traverse les Halles à la tombée de l'été
Marchait sur la pointe des pieds
The Right to Die
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
I have no fancy for that ancient cant
That makes us masters of our destinies,
James Shirley: XIV
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
And in the thickening twilight under thee
Walks Davenant, pensive in the paths where he,
The blithest throat that ever carolled love
In music made of mornings merriest heart,
Glad Suckling, stumbled from his seat above
And reeled on slippery roads of alien art.
Epigram : The Cottager And His Landlord. A Fable (Translated From Milton)
© William Cowper
A Peasant to his lord yearly court,
Presenting pippins of so rich a sort
The Herb Of Grace
© Elsie Cole
Find some freckled fern seed to sprinkle in your shoes
And you may step invisible down the peopled street,
Morgan le Fay
© Madison Julius Cawein
In dim samite was she bedight,
And on her hair a hoop of gold,
Like fox-fire in the tawn moonlight,
Was glimmering cold.
Blason Du Sein
© Maurice Sceve
L'haut plasmateur de ce corps admirable,
L'ayant formé en membres variable
Fragment VIII
© James Macpherson
Such, Fingal! were thy words; but
thy words I hear no more. Sightless
I sit by thy tomb. I hear the wind in
the wood; but no more I hear my
friends. The cry of the hunter is over.
The voice of war is ceased.
For The Dedication Of The New City Library, Boston
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
PROUDLY, beneath her glittering dome,
Our three-hilled city greets the morn;
Here Freedom found her virgin home,--
The Bethlehem where her babe was born.
Happiness
© Raymond Carver
So early it's still almost dark out.
I'm near the window with coffee,
and the usual early morning stuff
that passes for thought.
In a Paris Restaurant
© Henry Cuyler Bunner
I gaze, while thrills my heart with patriot pride,
Upon the exquisite skin, rose-flushed and creamy;
The perfect little head; on either side
Blonde waves. The dark eyes, vaguely soft and dreamy,
