All Poems

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Song On The Water.

© Thomas Lovell Beddoes

As mad sexton's bell, tolling
For earth's loveliest daughter
Night's dumbness breaks rolling
Ghostily:
So our boat breaks the water
Witchingly.

204. SongLove in the Guise of Friendship

© Robert Burns

YOUR friendship much can make me blest,
O why that bliss destroy!
Why urge the only, one request
You know I will deny!

The Hangman

© Anne Sexton

Reasonable, reasonable, reasonable…we walked through

ten different homes, they always call them homes,

152. Extempore in the Court of Session

© Robert Burns

LORD ADVOCATEHE clenched his pamphlet in his fist,
He quoted and he hinted,
Till, in a declamation-mist,
His argument he tint it:

Sonnet XXXVII: O Why Doth Delia

© Samuel Daniel

O why doth Delia credit so her glass,

Gazing her beauty deign'd her by the skies,

Subalterns

© Elizabeth Daryush

She said to one: How glows

My heart at the hot thought

379. SongFragmentLove for love

© Robert Burns

ITHERS seek they ken na what,
Features, carriage, and a that;
Gie me love in her I court,
Love to love maks a the sport.

Prologue To 'Zobeide'

© Oliver Goldsmith

IN these bold times, when Learning's sons explore

The distant climate and the savage shore;

Haidouks

© Hristo Botev

Father and Son
Come, Grandfather, blow on your pipe now,
And I will take up the tune
With songs of our heroes, of haidouks,

Coming Through The Rye

© Robert Burns

Coming thro' the rye, poor body,
Coming thro' the rye,
She draiglet a' her petticoatie
Coming thro' the rye.

Wild Geese

© Katharine Tynan

(A Lament for the Irish Jacobites.)

I have heard the curlew crying

89. The Ordination

© Robert Burns

KILMARNOCK wabsters, fidge an claw,
An pour your creeshie nations;
An ye wha leather rax an draw,
Of a denominations;

But 'tis not only with the loud and rude
That self betrays its nature unsubdued ;
Polite attention and refined address
But ill conceal it, and can ne'er suppress :
One truth, despite of manner, stands confest--
They love themselves unspeakably the best.

A Dirge

© Percy Bysshe Shelley

Rough wind, that moanest loud
Grief too sad for song;
Wild wind, when sullen cloud
Knells all the night long;

O Burgo

Meus males de quem procedem?
Não é de vós? claro é isso:
Que eu não faço mal a nada
por ser terra e mato arisco.

Village Song

HONEY, child, honey, child, whither are you going?
Would you cast your jewels all to the breezes blowing?
Would you leave the mother who on golden grain has fed you?
Would you grieve the lover who is riding forth to wed you?

Transcience

Nay, do not grieve tho' life be full of sadness,
Dawn will not veil her spleandor for your grief,
Nor spring deny their bright, appointed beauty
To lotus blossom and ashoka leaf.