All Poems
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Our Hired Girl
© James Whitcomb Riley
Our hired girl, she's 'Lizabuth Ann;
An' she can cook best things to eat!
The Healer
© John Greenleaf Whittier
So stood of old the holy Christ
Amidst the suffering throng;
With whom His lightest touch sufficed
To make the weakest strong.
For Una
© Robinson Jeffers
I built her a tower when I was young—
Sometime she will die—
I built it with my hands, I hung
Stones in the sky.
He forgotand Iremembered
© Emily Dickinson
He forgotand Iremembered
'Twas an everyday affair
Long ago as Christ and Peter
"Warmed them" at the "Temple fire."
Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee
© Henry Van Dyke
Joyful, joyful we adore Thee, God of glory, Lord of love,
Hearts unfold like flowers before Thee, hail Thee as the sun above.
Melt the clouds of sin and sadness, drive the dark of doubt away;
Giver of immortal gladness, fill us with the light of day.
Sonnet 64: No More, My Dear
© Sir Philip Sidney
No more, my dear, no more these counsels try;
Oh, give my passions leave to run their race;
Doctor Frolic
© Robert Pinsky
Felicity the healer isn’t young
And you don’t look him up unless you need him.
Clown’s eyes, Pope’s nose, a mouth for dirty stories,
He made his bundle in the Great Depression
Second Love
© Henry Timrod
Could I reveal the secret joy
Thy presence always with it brings,
The memories so strangely waked
Of long forgotten things,
The Gallows
© John Greenleaf Whittier
I.
THE suns of eighteen centuries have shone
Since the Redeemer walked with man, and made
The fisher's boat, the cavern's floor of stone,
Wildpeace
© John Wesley
Let it come
like wildflowers,
suddenly, because the field
must have it: wildpeace.
Ambition
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
I had ambition once. Like Solomon
I asked for wisdom, deeming wisdom fair,
And with much pains a little knowledge won
Of Nature's cruelty and Man's despair,
Rubaiyat 03
© Shams al-Din Hafiz
I said, your lips said, your lips we revive;
I said, your mouth said, sweetness we derive;
I said your words, he said, Hafiz said;
May all sweet lips be joyous and alive.
The Bee's Song
© Julia Ward Howe
Can you read the song
Of the suppliant bee?
'Tis a poet's soul,
Asking liberty.
At the San Francisco Airport
© Yvor Winters
To my daughter, 1954
This is the terminal: the light
Gives perfect vision, false and hard;
The metal glitters, deep and bright.
Great planes are waiting in the yard—
They are already in the night.
Wapentake. To Alfred Tennyson
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Poet! I come to touch thy lance with mine;
Not as a knight, who on the listed field
Uneasy Rider
© Diane Wakoski
(I feel like an advertisement
for men’s fashions
when I think of your ankles)
The Shuffle
© Roddy Lumsden
Skipping out from the major international cocktail party
with my becleavaged blight, a jeroboam in her tight fist,
I broke open my copy of Sarcasm for Beginners, i.e., men.
