All Poems
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The Poets Trust In His Sorrow
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
O GOD! how sad a doom is mine,
To human seeming:
Thou hast called on me to resign
So much--much!--all--but the divine
Hermann And Dorothea - III. Thalia
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
THE BURGHERS.
THUS did the prudent son escape from the hot conversation,
Sonnet XXXVIII: How Can My Muse Want Subject to Invent
© William Shakespeare
How can my muse want subject to invent,
While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse
Thine own sweet argument, too excellent
For every vulgar paper to rehearse?
Sonnet XXXVIII
© William Shakespeare
How can my Muse want subject to invent,
While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse
Thine own sweet argument, too excellent
For every vulgar paper to rehearse?
Flight
© Rupert Brooke
Voices out of the shade that cried,
And long noon in the hot calm places,
And children's play by the wayside,
And country eyes, and quiet faces -
All these were round my steady paces.
Sonnet XXXVII
© William Shakespeare
As a decrepit father takes delight
To see his active child do deeds of youth,
So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite,
Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth.
Retalliation
© William Cowper
The works of ancient bards divine,
Aulus, thou scorn'st to read;
And should posterity read thine,
It would be strange indeed!
Sonnet XXXVI
© William Shakespeare
Let me confess that we two must be twain,
Although our undivided loves are one:
So shall those blots that do with me remain
Without thy help by me be borne alone.
Sonnet XXXV
© William Shakespeare
No more be grieved at that which thou hast done:
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud;
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
Restlessness
© Emma Lazarus
Would I had waked this morn where Florence smiles,
A-bloom with beauty, a white rose full-blown,
Sonnet XXXIX
© William Shakespeare
O, how thy worth with manners may I sing,
When thou art all the better part of me?
What can mine own praise to mine own self bring?
And what is 't but mine own when I praise thee?
Chiaroscuro Rose
© Conrad Aiken
Fill your bowl with roses: the bowl, too, have of crystal.
Sit at the western window. Take the sun
Between your hands like a ball of flaming crystal,
Poise it to let it fall, but hold it still,
And meditate on the beauty of your existence;
The beauty of this, that you exist at all.
Sonnet XXXIV
© William Shakespeare
Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day,
And make me travel forth without my cloak,
To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way,
Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke?
Impromptu
© Frances Anne Kemble
Give me a song to sing,
Poet, sound the lyre,
Strike from the rock the spring,
Smite from the flint the fire.
Sonnet XXXII
© William Shakespeare
If thou survive my well-contented day,
When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover,
And shalt by fortune once more re-survey
These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover,
Faute De Mieux
© Edith Nesbit
WHEN the corn is green and the poppies red
And the fields are crimson with love-lies-bleeding,
Sonnet XXXI
© William Shakespeare
Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts,
Which I by lacking have supposed dead,
And there reigns love and all love's loving parts,
And all those friends which I thought buried.
Sonnet VI "I Scarcely Grieve, O Nature! at the Lot"
© Henry Timrod
I scarcely grieve, O Nature! at the lot
That pent my life within a city's bounds,
Sonnet XXX
© William Shakespeare
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:
