All Poems
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Forest And Field
© Madison Julius Cawein
I
GREEN, watery jets of light let through
The rippling foliage drenched with dew;
And golden glimmers, warm and dim,
To a Marsh Hawk in Spring
© Henry David Thoreau
There is health in thy gray wing,
Health of natures furnishing.
The Crown
© Katharine Tynan
She had twelve stars for diadem;
She had for footstool the full moon;
Her quiet eyes, outshining them,
Kept memories of the night and noon
And the still moms at Nazareth
When in her arms the Child drew breath.
The Wound-Dresser
© Walt Whitman
But in silence, in dreams’ projections,
While the world of gain and appearance and mirth goes on,
So soon what is over forgotten, and waves wash the imprints off the sand,
With hinged knees returning I enter the doors, (while for you up there,
Whoever you are, follow without noise and be of strong heart.)
The Heart Courageous
© Virna Sheard
Who hath a heart courageous
Will fight with right good cheer;
For well may he his foes out-face
Who owns no foe called Fear!
Town Eclogues: Tuesday; St. James's Coffee-House
© Lady Mary Wortley Montagu
SILLIANDER and PATCH. THOU so many favours hast receiv'd,
Wondrous to tell, and hard to be believ'd,
Oh ! H—— D, to my lays attention lend,
Hear how two lovers boastingly contend ;
Like thee successful, such their bloomy youth,
Renown'd alike for gallantry and truth.
Pastoral Sung To The King
© Robert Herrick
MON. Bad are the times. SIL. And worse than they are we.
MON. Troth, bad are both; worse fruit, and ill the tree:
Christmas Away from Home
© Jane Kenyon
Her sickness brought me to Connecticut.
Mornings I walk the dog: that part of life
is intact. Who's painted, who's insulated
or put siding on, who's burned the lawn
with lime—that's the news on Ardmore Street.
Dean Stanley
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
DEAD! dead! in sooth his marbled brow is cold,
And prostrate lies that brave, majestic head;
True! his stilled features own death's arctic mould,
Yet, by Christ's blood, I know he is not dead!
Au Vieux Jardin
© William Langland
I have sat here happy in the gardens,
Watching the still pool and the reeds
Bantry Bay
© John Clare
On the eighteenth of October we lay in Bantry Bay,
All ready to set sail, with a fresh and steady gale:
To the Lord General Cromwell
© Patrick Kavanagh
Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud,
Not of war only, but detractions rude,
My Grandmother’s Love Letters
© Hart Crane
There are no stars tonight
But those of memory.
Yet how much room for memory there is
In the loose girdle of soft rain.
“Actuarial File”
© Jean Valentine
Orange peels, burned letters, the car lights shining on the grass,
everything goes somewhere—and everything we do—nothing
ever disappears. But changes. The roar of the sun in photographs.
Inching shorelines. Ice lines. The cells of our skin; our meetings,
our solitudes. Our eyes.
Going West
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Just as I came
Into the empty, westward--facing room,
A sudden gust blew wide
The tall window; at once
I never hear the word “Escape” (144)
© Emily Dickinson
I never hear the word “Escape”
Without a quicker blood,
A sudden expectation –
A flying attitude!
