All Poems
/ page 1376 of 3210 /
The Devon Maid: Stanzas Sent In A Letter To B. R. Haydon
© John Keats
1.
Where be ye going, you Devon maid?
And what have ye there i' the basket?
Ye tight little fairy, just fresh from the dairy,
Will ye give me some cream if I ask it?
300. Scots Prologue for Mr. Sutherland
© Robert Burns
WHAT needs this din about the town o Lonon,
How this new play an that new sang is comin?
Why is outlandish stuff sae meikle courted?
Does nonsense mend, like brandy, when imported?
229. SongAnna, thy Charms
© Robert Burns
ANNA, thy charms my bosom fire,
And waste my soul with care;
But ah! how bootless to admire,
When fated to despair!
The Boatswains Song
© Caroline Norton
A CHEER to keep our hearts up,
A cup to drown our tears,
And we'll talk of those who perished,
Our mates in former years.
9. The Ploughmans Life
© Robert Burns
AS I was a-wandring ae morning in spring,
I heard a young ploughman sae sweetly to sing;
And as he was singin, thir words he did say,
Theres nae life like the ploughmans in the month o sweet May.
Jilted
© Sylvia Plath
My thoughts are crabbed and sallow,
My tears like vinegar,
Or the bitter blinking yellow
Of an acetic star.
147. Address to a Haggis
© Robert Burns
Ye Powrs, wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu prayer
Gie her a haggis!
The House Of Dust: Part 03: 09:
© Conrad Aiken
We sit together and talk, or smoke in silence.
You say (but use no words) 'this night is passing
As other nights when we are dead will pass . . .'
Perhaps I misconstrue you: you mean only,
'How deathly pale my face looks in that glass . . .'
463. SongThe Highland Balou
© Robert Burns
HEE balou, my sweet wee Donald,
Picture o the great Clanronald;
Brawlie kens our wanton Chief
Wha gat my young Highland thief.
421. Epitaph on a Lap-dog
© Robert Burns
IN wood and wild, ye warbling throng,
Your heavy loss deplore;
Now, half extinct your powers of song,
Sweet Echo is no more.
63. One Night as I did Wander
© Robert Burns
ONE night as I did wander,
When corn begins to shoot,
I sat me down to ponder
Upon an auld tree root;
409. EpigramThe Raptures of Folly
© Robert Burns
THOU greybeard, old Wisdom! may boast of thy treasures;
Give me with young Folly to live;
I grant thee thy calm-blooded, time-settled pleasures,
But Folly has raptures to give.
A Sang 'O Zion
© George MacDonald
Ane by ane they gang awa;
The getherer gethers grit and sma':
Ane by ane maks ane and a'!
162. The Bookworms
© Robert Burns
THROUGH and through th inspird leaves,
Ye maggots, make your windings;
But O respect his lordships taste,
And spare his golden bindings.
God-Seeking
© William Watson
Yet whom thou soughtest I have found at last;
Neither where tempest dims the world below
Nor where the westering daylight reels aghast
In conflagrations of red overthrow:
But where this virgin brooklet silvers past,
And yellowing either bank the king-cups blow.
241. Written in Friars Carse Hermitage (Second Version)
© Robert Burns
THOU whom chance may hither lead,
Be thou clad in russet weed,
Be thou deckt in silken stole,
Grave these counsels on thy soul.
Elle sait que l'attente est un cruel supplice
© François Coppée
Elle sait que l'attente est un cruel supplice,
Qu'il doit souffrir déjà, qu'il faut qu'elle accomplisse
Le serment qu'elle a fait d'être là, vers midi.
Mais, parmi les parfums du boudoir attiédi,
198. SongBraving Angry Winers Storms
© Robert Burns
WHERE, braving angry winters storms,
The lofty Ochils rise,
Far in their shade my Peggys charms
First blest my wondering eyes;
4. SongIn the Character of a Ruined Farmer
© Robert Burns
THE SUN he is sunk in the west,
All creatures retir?d to rest,
While here I sit, all sore beset,
With sorrow, grief, and woe:
And its O, fickle Fortune, O!
