All Poems

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Here's to the Maiden of Bashful Fifteen

© Richard Brinsley Sheridan

Here's to the charmer whose dimples we prize;
Now to the maid who has none, sir:
Here's to the girl with a pair of blue eyes,
And here's to the nymph with but one, sir.
Chorus

On the Lady Elizabeth, and Count Palatine Being Married on St. Valentine's Day

© John Donne

Hail Bishop Valentine, whose day this is,

All the air is thy Diocese,

But sadness moved him when he gave
DE VALENCE to his lowly grave,--
The grave where the wild flowers were sleeping,
And one pale olive-tree was weeping,--
And placed the rude stone cross to show
A Christian hero lay below.

Spring Visit to Chien-Tang Lake

© Bai Juyi

North of Solitary Mountain Temple
and west of Chia Pavilion
the water's surface is flattened
by the wet feet of clouds.

Epilogue For Mr. Lee Lewes

© Oliver Goldsmith

HOLD! Prompter, hold! a word before your nonsense;

I'd speak a word or two, to ease my conscience.

Epitaph On A Free But Tame Redbreast, A Favourite Of Miss Sally Hurdis

© William Cowper

These are not dew-drops, these are tears,
And tears by Sally shed
For absent Robin, who she fears
With too much cause, is dead.

Thanksgiving

© William Stanley Braithwaite

MY heart gives thanks for many things;

For strength to labor day by day,

To The King Of Macedonia

© George Moses Horton

Thou may'st with pleasure hail the dawn,
And greet the morning's eye;
Remember, king, the night comes on,
The fleeting day will soon be gone,
Not distant, loud proclaims the funeral tone,
Phillip, thou hast to die.

A young Fir-Wood

© Dante Gabriel Rossetti

THESE little firs to-day are things

To clasp into a giant's cap,

On The Earl Of Oxford And Mortimer's Giving His Daughter In Marriage In Oxford--Chapel.

© Mary Barber

See, in the Temple rais'd by Harley's Hand,
His beauteous Off--spring at the Altar stand:
There Mortimer resigns his darling Care;
To happy Portland gives the blooming Fair.

In Memoriam Matris

© Arthur Patchett Martin

IN my hot youth I rashly penned
A Sonnet of the After-life.
It was the time of stress and strife
Through which the ardent soul must wend.

I Send Letters

© Mirabai

I send letters to my Beloved,

The dear Krishna.

Natural Gifts.

© Robert Crawford

The gifts o' the gods; not all men have them, ay,
And some indeed that have them know it not;
And some that have them not, deem that they have,
And there's the mischief: it is this that makes

Shadow And Shade

© Allen Tate

The shadow streamed into the wall-
The wall, break-shadow in the blast;
We lingered wordless while a tall
Shade enclouded the shadow's cast.

The Romance Of Britomarte ~~~

I'll tell you a story; but pass the "jack",
And let us make merry to-night, my men.
Aye, those were the days when my beard was black -
I like to remember them now and then -

Voices Of The Night : Prelude

Pleasant it was, when woods were green,
And winds were soft and low,
To lie amid some sylvan scene,
Where, the long drooping boughs between
Shadows dark and sunlight sheen
Alternate come and go;

Topiary

Failing sometimes to understand

Why there are folk whose flesh should seem

The Sin

I sinned a sin full of pleasure,
In an embrace which was warm and fiery.
I sinned surrounded by arms
that were hot and avenging and iron.

In The Wood Of Finvara

I have grown tired of sorrow and human tears;
Life is a dream in the night, a fear among fears,
A naked runner lost in a storm of spears.
I have grown tired of rapture and love's desire;
Love is a flaming heart, and its flames aspire
Till they cloud the soul in the smoke of a windy fire.