All Poems
/ page 1328 of 3210 /
Pine-Trees and the Sky: Evening
© Rupert Brooke
I'd watched the sorrow of the evening sky,
And smelt the sea, and earth, and the warm clover,
And heard the waves, and the seagull's mocking cry.
Easter-Day
© Alessandro Manzoni
Yes, HE IS RISEN. That hallowéd head
No longer lies wrapped in the cloth of the dead.
HE IS SURELY RISEN. At the side of the tomb
Lies the overturned door of the solitary room.
Like the valorous champion drunk after strife
The LORD has awaked to omnipotent life;
1914 V: The Soldier
© Rupert Brooke
And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
The Great Lover
© Rupert Brooke
O dear my loves, O faithless, once again
This one last gift I give: that after men
Shall know, and later lovers, far-removed,
Praise you, "All these were lovely"; say "He loved".
To F. W. N. A Birthday Offering
© John Henry Newman
Dear Frank, this morn has usher'd in
The manhood of thy days;
A boy no more, thou must begin
To choose thy future ways;
To brace thy arm, and nerve thy heart,
For maintenance of a noble part.
The Lost Range
© Henry Herbert Knibbs
Only a few of us understood his ways and his outfit queer,
His saddle horse and his pack-horse, as lean as a winter steer,
Thorwaldsen
© Thomas Bailey Aldrich
Not in the fabled influence of some star,
Benign or evil, do our fortunes lie;
The Old Vicarage, Granchester
© Rupert Brooke
Just now the lilac is in bloom,
All before my little room;
And in my flower-beds, I think,
Smile the carnation and the pink;
Heaven
© Rupert Brooke
Fish (fly-replete, in depth of June,
Dawdling away their wat'ry noon)
Ponder deep wisdom, dark or clear,
Each secret fishy hope or fear.
The Dead
© Rupert Brooke
Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead!
There's none of these so lonely and poor of old,
But, dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold.
These laid the world away; poured out the red
Out At Plough
© William Barnes
Though cool avore the sheenèn sky
Do vall the sheädes below the copse,
Beauty and Beauty
© Rupert Brooke
When Beauty and Beauty meet
All naked, fair to fair,
The earth is crying-sweet,
And scattering-bright the air,
The Child
© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay
I MAY not lift him in my arms. His face I may not see--
Are angel hands more tender than a mother's hands may be?
And does he smile to hear the song an angel stole from me?
The Treasure
© Rupert Brooke
When colour goes home into the eyes,
And lights that shine are shut again,
With dancing girls and sweet birds' cries
Behind the gateways of the brain;
And that no-place which gave them birth, shall close
The rainbow and the rose:
The Bottom Drawer
© Anonymous
In the best chamber of the house,
Shut up in dim, uncertain light,
There stood an antique chest of drawers,
Of foreign wood, with brasses bright.
The Little Dog's Day
© Rupert Brooke
All in the town were still asleep,
When the sun came up with a shout and a leap.
In the lonely streets unseen by man,
A little dog danced. And the day began.
The Thumbed Collar
© Edgar Albert Guest
Go up and change your collar," mother often says to me,
"For you can't go out in that one, it's as dirty as can be.
There are splotches on the surface where they very plainly show."
"That is very queer," I answer, "it was clean an hour ago."
But I guess just what has happened, and in this it's clearly summed:
He who lets a baby love him often gets his collar thumbed.
