All Poems
/ page 1711 of 3210 /
When Your Sins Come Home to Roost
© Henry Lawson
When you fear the barbers mirror when you go to get a crop,
Or in sorrow every morning comb your hair across the top:
When you titivate and do the little things you never used
It is close upon the season when your sins come home to roost.
H. S. Mauberley (Life and Contacts) [Part I]
© Ezra Pound
E. P. Ode pour l'élection de son sépulchre
For three years, out of key with his time,
He strove to resuscitate the dead art
Of poetry; to maintain "the sublime"
In the old sense. Wrong from the start i
The Fall
© William Barnes
The length o’ days ageän do shrink
An’ flowers be thin in meäd, among
The eegrass a-sheenèn bright, along
Brook upon brook, an’ brink by brink.
Olney Hymn 2: Jehovah-Jireh: The Lord Will Provide
© William Cowper
The saints should never be dismay'd,
Nor sink in hopeless fear;
For when they least expect His aid,
The Saviour will appear.
The Great Drum
© Anonymous
The circle of the Earth is the head of a great drum;
With the day, it moves upward - booming;
With the night, it moves downward - booming;
The day and the night are its song.
The Consent
© Howard Nemerov
Late in November, on a single night
Not even near to freezing, the ginkgo trees
Hospital Barge At Cerisy
© Wilfred Owen
One reading by that calm bank shaded eyes
To watch her lessening westward quietly.
Then, as she neared the bend, her funnel screamed.
And that long lamentation made him wise
How unto Avalon, in agony,
Kings passed in the dark barge, which Merlin dreamed.
Song of the Witches
© William Shakespeare
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and caldron bubble.
Cool it with a baboon's blood,
Then the charm is firm and good.
The Coming of Morn
© Charles Heavysege
Lo, the clouds break, and in each opened schism
The coming Phoebus lays huge beams of gold,
And roseate fire and glories that the prism
Would vainly strive before us to unfold;
And, while I gaze, from out the bright abysm
A flaming disc is to the horizon rolled.
A Song Of The Forest
© Alma Frances McCollum
The Legend of Love-Sick Lake
WHEN you wander alone through the forest
Original Sin
© Robinson Jeffers
Meanwhile the intense color and nobility of sunrise,
Rose and gold and amber, flowed up the sky. Wet rocks were shining, a little wind
Stirred the leaves of the forest and the marsh flag-flowers; the soft valley between the low hills
Became as beautiful as the sky; while in its midst, hour after hour, the happy hunters
Roasted their living meat slowly to death.
Content and Rich
© Robert Southwell
I dwell in Grace's court,
Enriched with Virtue's rights;
Faith guides my wit, Love leads my will,
Hope all my mind delights.
In the Basement of the Goodwill Store
© Ted Kooser
In musty light, in the thin brown air
of damp carpet, doll heads and rust,
The Rover's Apology
© William Schwenck Gilbert
Oh, gentlemen, listen, I pray;
Though I own that my heart has been ranging,
The Nail
© C. K. Williams
Some dictator or other had gone into exile, and now reports were coming about his regime,
the usual crimes, torture, false imprisonment, cruelty and corruption, but then a detail:
Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 3. The Musician's Tale; The Mother's Ghost
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Svend Dyring he rideth adown the glade;
I myself was young!
The Lonely Road
© Virna Sheard
We used to fear the lonely road
That twisted round the hill;
It dipped down to the river-way,
And passed the haunted mill,
And then crept on, until it reached
The churchyard, green and still.
