All Poems
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The Banks Of Wye - Book III
© Robert Bloomfield
PEACE to your white-wall'd cots, ye vales,
Untainted fly your summer gales;
My Sister's Sleep
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
She fell asleep on Christmas Eve:
At length the long-ungranted shade
Of weary eyelids overweigh'd
The pain nought else might yet relieve.
The Holdfast
© George Herbert
I threatned to observe the strict decree
Of my deare God with all my power and might:
But I was told by one, it could not be;
Yet I might trust in God to be my light.
"Many in aftertimes will say of you"
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
Vien dietro a me e lascia dir le genti. Dante
Contando i casi della vita nostra. Petrarca
O. W. Holmes On His Eightieth Birth-Day
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Climbing a path which leads back never more
We heard behind his footsteps and his cheer;
On the Death of the Late Earl of Rochester
© Aphra Behn
Mourn, mourn, ye Muses, all your loss deplore,
The young, the noble Strephon is no more.
The Words Under the Words
© Naomi Shihab Nye
for Sitti Khadra, north of Jerusalem
My grandmother’s hands recognize grapes,
the damp shine of a goat’s new skin.
When I was sick they followed me,
I woke from the long fever to find them
covering my head like cool prayers.
To The Same (John Dyer)
© William Wordsworth
ENOUGH of climbing toil!--Ambition treads
Here, as 'mid busier scenes, ground steep and rough,
Or slippery even to peril! and each step,
As we for most uncertain recompence
Julian and Maddalo
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
As thus I spoke
Servants announc'd the gondola, and we
Through the fast-falling rain and high-wrought sea
Sail'd to the island where the madhouse stands.
The Worst Horror
© Christian Frederik Louis Leipoldt
This is the bitterest thing of all my days,
That which I have loved so well, that now is dead
Elegy in a Country Churchyard
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
The men that worked for England
They have their graves at home:
And bees and birds of England
About the cross can roam.
Fragments
© William Butler Yeats
I
LOCKE sank into a swoon;
The Garden died;
God took the spinning-jenny
Out of his side.
The Song of the Banjo
© Rudyard Kipling
With my ‘Pilly-willy-winky-winky-popp!’
[Oh, it’s any tune that comes into my head!]
So I keep ’em moving forward till they drop;
So I play ’em up to water and to bed.
Andrew Jones
© William Wordsworth
I HATE that Andrew Jones; he'll breed
His children up to waste and pillage.
I wish the press-gang or the drum
With its tantara sound would come,
And sweep him from the village!
In The Seven Woods
© William Butler Yeats
I HAVE heard the pigeons of the Seven Woods
Make their faint thunder, and the garden bees
Kalaloch
© Carolyn Forche
Each morning the minus tide—
weeds flowed it like hair swimming.
The starfish gripped rock, pastel,
rough. Fish bones lay in sun.
