All Poems
/ page 1727 of 3210 /
Portrait of a Figure near Water
© Jane Kenyon
Rebuked, she turned and ran
uphill to the barn. Anger, the inner
arsonist, held a match to her brain.
She observed her life: against her will
it survived the unwavering flame.
The Concentration Of Athens
© Richard Monckton Milnes
Why should we wonder that from such small space
Of Earth so much of human strength upgrew,
When thus were woven bonds that tighter drew
Round the Athenian heart than faith or race?
Sibyl
© John Howard Payne
THIS is the glamour of the world antique:
The thyme-scents of Hymettus fill the air,
Parting: 1940
© Daniel Nester
Not knowing in what season this again
Not knowing when again the arms outyearning
Nor the flung smile in eyes not knowing when
Sonnet XXX: Last Fire
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Love,through your spirit and mine what summer eve
Now glows with glory of all things possess'd,
Madmen
© Billy Collins
They say you can jinx a poem
if you talk about it before it is done.
If you let it out too early, they warn,
your poem will fly away,
and this time they are absolutely right.
The Cottager To Her Infant
© William Wordsworth
THE days are cold, the nights are long,
The north-wind sings a doleful song;
Then hush again upon my breast;
All merry things are now at rest,
Save thee, my pretty Love!
The Cottager
© John Clare
True as the church clock hand the hour pursues
He plods about his toils and reads the news,
Jolly Good Ale and Old
© William Stevenson
Back and side go bare, go bare,
Both foot and hand go cold;
But, belly, God send thee good ale enough,
Whether it be new or old.
Intimations Of The Beautiful
© Madison Julius Cawein
The hills are full of prophecies
And ancient voices of the dead;
Of hidden shapes that no man sees,
Pale, visionary presences,
That speak the things no tongue hath said,
No mind hath thought, no eye hath read.
Fragment 7: When Hope but made Tranquillity be felt
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
When Hope but made Tranquillity be felt—
A Flight of Hopes for ever on the wing
But made Tranquillity a conscious Thing—
And wheeling round and round in sportive coil
Fann'd the calm air upon the brow of Toil—
To -- --
© Edgar Allan Poe
Not long ago, the writer of these lines,
In the mad pride of intellectuality,
Lost to View
© Stephen Edgar
A range of clouds banked up behind the peak
Of that apocryphal
Blue mountain, with a wide, oblique
Burst of late sun
Projecting at the east’s receding wall
I Will Make You Brooches
© Robert Louis Stevenson
I will make you brooches and toys for your delight
Of bird-song at morning and star-shine at night.
I will make a palace fit for you and me
Of green days in forests and blue days at sea.
Writing
© Howard Nemerov
The cursive crawl, the squared-off characters
these by themselves delight, even without
