All Poems
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Sonnet CXXXI
© William Shakespeare
Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art,
As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel;
For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart
Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel.
Fragment IX
© James Macpherson
Conar was mighty in war. Caul
was the friend of strangers. His gates
were open to all; midnight darkened
not on his barred door. Both lived upon
the sons of the mountains. Their bow
was the support of the poor.
The White Doe Of Rylstone, Or, The Fate Of The Nortons - Dedication
© William Wordsworth
RYDAL MOUNT, WESTMORELAND,
April , 1815.
_____________
Sonnet CXXX
© William Shakespeare
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
Sonnet CXXVIII
© William Shakespeare
How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st,
Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds
With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway'st
The wiry concord that mine ear confounds,
The Ghost - Book II
© Charles Churchill
A sacred standard rule we find,
By poets held time out of mind,
Sonnet CXXVII
© William Shakespeare
In the old age black was not counted fair,
Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name;
But now is black beauty's successive heir,
And beauty slander'd with a bastard shame:
He Was Lucky
© Anna Swirszczynska
The old man
leaves his house, carries books.
A German soldier snatches his books
flings them in the mud.
Sonnet CXXVI
© William Shakespeare
O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power
Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle, hour;
Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st
Thy lovers withering as thy sweet self grow'st;
Oxford Revisited
© William Lisle Bowles
I never hear the sound of thy glad bells,
Oxford, and chime harmonious, but I say,
Sonnet CXXV
© William Shakespeare
Were 't aught to me I bore the canopy,
With my extern the outward honouring,
Or laid great bases for eternity,
Which prove more short than waste or ruining?
The Shepherd's Calendar - September
© John Clare
Harvest awakes the morning still
And toils rude groups the valleys fill
Sonnet CXXIX
© William Shakespeare
The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust in action; and till action, lust
Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame,
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust,
The Epic Of The Lion
© Victor Marie Hugo
A Lion in his jaws caught up a child--
Not harming it--and to the woodland, wild
Sonnet CXXIV
© William Shakespeare
If my dear love were but the child of state,
It might for Fortune's bastard be unfather'd'
As subject to Time's love or to Time's hate,
Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gather'd.
Rubens' Hell
© Kenneth Slessor
VENUS with rosy-cloven rump
And rings of straw-bright flying hair
Looks in the glass that slaves are plying
Not for her own face floating there,
Sonnet CXXIII
© William Shakespeare
No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change:
Thy pyramids built up with newer might
To me are nothing novel, nothing strange;
They are but dressings of a former sight.
Sonnet CXXII
© William Shakespeare
Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain
Full character'd with lasting memory,
Which shall above that idle rank remain
Beyond all date, even to eternity;
The Guarded Wound
© Adelaide Crapsey
If it
Were lighter touch
Than petal of flower resting
On grass, oh still too heavy it were,
Too heavy!
Sonnet CXXI
© William Shakespeare
'Tis better to be vile than vile esteem'd,
When not to be receives reproach of being,
And the just pleasure lost which is so deem'd
Not by our feeling but by others' seeing:
