All Poems
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Honour's Martyr
© Emily Jane Brontë
The moon is full this winter night;
The stars are clear, though few;
And every window glistens bright
With leaves of frozen dew.
Your Hay it is Mow'd, and Your Corn is Reaped
© John Dryden
COMUS
Your hay it is mow'd, and your corn is reap'd;
Your barns will be full, and your hovels heap'd:
Come, my boys, come;
Come, my boys, come;
And merrily roar out Harvest Home.
1979
© Roddy Lumsden
They arrived at the desk of the Hotel Duncan
and Smithed in, twitchy as flea-drummed squirrels.
II. Elliott In Fort Sumter
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
AND high amongst these chiefs of iron grain,
Large-statured natures, souls of Spartan mien,
Superbly brave, inflexibly serene,
Man of the, stalwart hope, the sleepless brain,
Do Not!
© Stevie Smith
Do not despair of man, and do not scold him,
Who are you that you should so lightly hold him?
Machinist Talking
© Lesbia Harford
I sit at my machine,
Hour long beside me Vera aged nineteen,
Babbles her sweet and innocent tale of sex.
Modern Love: XXII
© George Meredith
What may the woman labour to confess?
There is about her mouth a nervous twitch.
West Wind In Winter
© Alice Meynell
Another day awakes. And who -
Changing the world-is this?
He comes at whiles, the Winter through,
West Wind! I would not miss
His sudden tryst: the long, the new
Surprises of his kiss.
Dreams
© Ogden Nash
To dream of love, and, waking, to remember you:
As though, being dead, one dreamed of heaven, and woke
in hell.
At night my lovely dreams forget the old farewell:
Ah! wake not by his side, lest you remember too!
Antrim
© Robinson Jeffers
No spot of earth where men have so fiercely for ages of time
Fought and survived and cancelled each other,
Song: My silks and fine array
© William Blake
My silks and fine array,
My smiles and languish'd air,
By love are driv'n away;
And mournful lean Despair
Brings me yew to deck my grave:
Such end true lovers have.
The Frogs
© Archibald Lampman
Often to me who heard you in your day,
With close wrapt ears, it could not choose but seem
That earth, our mother, searching in that way,
Men's hearts might know her spirit's inmost dream,
Ever at rest beneath life's change and stir,
Made you her soul, and bade you pipe for her.
The Boston Evening Transcript
© Thomas Stearns Eliot
The readers of the Boston Evening Transcript
Sway in the wind like a field of ripe corn.
Break, Break, Break
© Alfred Tennyson
Break, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me.
Saint Judas
© James Wright
Banished from heaven, I found this victim beaten,
Stripped, kneed, and left to cry. Dropping my rope
Aside, I ran, ignored the uniforms:
Then I remembered bread my flesh had eaten,
The kiss that ate my flesh. Flayed without hope,
I held the man for nothing in my arms.
Farewell to Poetry
© Théophile Gautier
Come, fallen angel, and your pink wings close;
Doff your white robe, your rays that gild the skies;
In Memory of Bryan Lathrop
© Edgar Lee Masters
Who bequeathed to Chicago a School of Music.
So in Pieria, from the wedded bliss
The Last Redoubt
© Alfred Austin
Kacelyevo's slope still felt
The cannon's bolt and the rifles' pelt;
For a last redoubt up the hill remained,
By the Russ yet held, by the Turk not gained.
