All Poems

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Mr. Attila

© Carl Sandburg

They made a myth of you, professor,
you of the gentle voice,
the books, the specs,
the furitive rabbit manners
in the mortar-board cap
and the medieval gown.

Le Maudit

© William Langland

He sits alone in the firelight
And on either side drifts by
Sleep, like a torrent whirling,
Profound, wrinkled and dumb.

The parties, henpecked William, are thy wives,
The hairs they pluck are thy prerogatives;
Tories thy person hate, the Whigs thy power,
Though much thou yieldest, still they tug for more,
Till this poor man and thou alike are shown,
He without hair, and thou without a crown.

Firstlings

© Louise Imogen Guiney

(January 7, 1915)
In the dregs of the year, all steam and rain,
In the timid time of the heart again,
When indecision is bold and thorough,
And action dreams of a dawn in vain,

Mysterious Neighbors

© Connie Wanek

Country people rise early

as their distant lights testify.

Swordfish

© Andrew Hudgins

My fingertips marveled at the silvery shimmer,

already less silver, less shimmery than when it lived.

The Obligation to Be Happy

© Linda Pastan

It is more onerous

than the rites of beauty

She Was a Phantom of Delight

© André Breton

She was a Phantom of delight

When first she gleamed upon my sight;

The Cab Driver Who Ripped Me Off

© Cornelius Eady

That’s right, said the cab driver,

Turning the corner to the

The Shadow on the Stone

© Thomas Hardy

I went by the Druid stone

That broods in the garden white and lone,

In Memoriam, July 19, 1914

© Anna Akhmatova

We aged a hundred years and this descended
In just one hour, as at a stroke.
The summer had been brief and now was ended;
The body of the ploughed plains lay in smoke.

Far Company

© William Stanley Merwin

At times now from some margin of the day

I can hear birds of another country

Bath

© Amy Lowell

The day is fresh-washed and fair, and there is a smell of tulips and narcissus in the air.
The sunshine pours in at the bath-room window and bores through the water in the bath-tub in lathes and planes of greenish-white. It cleaves the water into flaws like a jewel, and cracks it to bright light.
Little spots of sunshine lie on the surface of the water and dance, dance, and their reflections wobble deliciously over the ceiling; a stir of my finger sets them whirring, reeling. I move a foot and the planes of light in the water jar. I lie back and laugh, and let the green-white water, the sun-flawed beryl water, flow over me. The day is almost too bright to bear, the green water covers me from the too bright day. I will lie here awhile and play with the water and the sun spots. The sky is blue and high. A crow flaps by the window, and there is a whiff of tulips and narcissus in the air.

Huswifery

© Edward Taylor

Make me, O Lord, thy Spining Wheele compleate.
Thy Holy Worde my Distaff make for mee.
Make mine Affections thy Swift Flyers neate
And make my Soule thy holy Spoole to bee.
My Conversation make to be thy Reele
And reele the yarn thereon spun of thy Wheele.

Parable of the Hostages

© Louise Gluck

The Greeks are sitting on the beach

wondering what to do when the war ends. No one

Dusting

© Rita Dove

Every day a wilderness—no

shade in sight. Beulah

Against Complaint

After the Yoruba

Though the amaryllis sags and spills

White Oxen

A man walks beside them
with a whip that he cracks.
The cart they draw is painted
with Saracens and Crusaders,
fierce eyes and ranks of spears.

Unholy Sonnet 11

© Mark Jarman

Half asleep in prayer I said the right thing

And felt a sudden pleasure come into

Emily Hardcastle, Spinster

© Pindar

We shall come tomorrow morning, who were not to have her love,
We shall bring no face of envy but a gift of praise and lilies
To the stately ceremonial we are not the heroes of.