All Poems
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Lines On The Death Of S. Oliver Torrey
© John Greenleaf Whittier
SECRETARY OF THE BOSTON YOUNG MEN'S ANTI-SLAVERY SOCIETY.
Gone before us, O our brother,
At Last
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
Down, down like a pale leaf dropping
Under an autumn sky,
My love dropped into my bosom
Quietly, quietly.
La Belle Juive
© Henry Timrod
Is it because your sable hair
Is folded over brows that wear
At times a too imperial air;
Living at the End of Time
© Robert Bly
There is so much sweetness in children’s voices,
And so much discontent at the end of day,
And so much satisfaction when a train goes by.
To Lucasta, Like the Sentinel Stars
© Richard Lovelace
Like to the sent'nel stars, I watch all night;
For still the grand round of your light
And glorious breast
Awake in me an east:
Nor will my rolling eyes ere know a west.
The Breeder’s Cup
© David Lehman
They cannot keep the peace
or their hands off each other,
breed not yet preach
the old discredited creed.
In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII: [Prelude]
© Alfred Tennyson
Strong Son of God, immortal Love,
Whom we, that have not seen thy face,
By faith, and faith alone, embrace,
Believing where we cannot prove;
A Lullaby
© Madison Julius Cawein
In her wimple of wind and her slippers of sleep
The twilight comes like a little goose-girl,
Herding her owls with many "tu-whoos,"
Her little brown owls in the woodland deep,
Where dimly she walks in her whispering shoes,
And gown of glimmering pearl.
from “The Desk”
© Marina Tsvetaeva
Fair enough: you people have eaten me,
I—wrote you down.
They’ll lay you out on a dinner table,
me—on this desk.
Sic Semper Liberatoribus!
© Emma Lazarus
As one who feels the breathless nightmare grip
His heart-strings, and through visioned horrors fares,
Under A Tree
© Edgar Albert Guest
UNDER a tree where the breezes blow,
There is the spot that it's good to go
With the children bronzed by the Summer sun,
Bubbling with laughter and wholesome fun;
And I gather them round all the happy clan,
And forget for a while I'm a grizzled old man.
In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII: 15
© Alfred Tennyson
To-night the winds begin to rise
And roar from yonder dropping day:
The last red leaf is whirl'd away,
The rooks are blown about the skies;
Upon Ben Jonson
© Robert Herrick
Here lies Jonson with the rest
Of the poets; but the best.
Reader, would’st thou more have known?
Ask his story, not this stone.
That will speak what this can’t tell
Of his glory. So farewell.
Sonnet CXXXIII: Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan
© William Shakespeare
Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan
For that deep wound it gives my friend and me:
Glad by Coleman Barks : American Life in Poetry #222 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006
© Ted Kooser
Coleman Barks, who lives in Georgia, is not only the English language's foremost translator of the poems of the 13th century poet, Rumi, but he's also a loving grandfather, and for me that's even more important. His poems about his granddaughter, Briny, are brim full of joy. Here's one:
Glad
Abandoned Farmhouse
© Ted Kooser
He was a big man, says the size of his shoes
on a pile of broken dishes by the house;
Crazy Jane Talks With The Bishop
© William Butler Yeats
I met the Bishop on the road
And much said he and I.
'Those breasts are flat and fallen now,
Those veins must soon be dry;
Live in a heavenly mansion,
Not in some foul sty.'
