All Poems
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Sea Longings
© Thomas Bailey Aldrich
The first world-sound that fell upon my ear
Was that of the great winds along the coast
For The Meeting Of The National Sanitary Association
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
WHAT makes the Healing Art divine?
The bitter drug we buy and sell,
The brands that scorch, the blades that shine,
The scars we leave, the "cures" we tell?
The Book of the Dead Man (#15)
© Marvin Bell
1. About the Dead Man and Rigor Mortis
The dead man thinks his resolve has stiffened when the
For Four Guilds: IV. The Bell-Ringers
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
The angels are singing like birds in a tree
In the organ of good St. Cecily:
Eclogue 4: Pollio
© Publius Vergilius Maro
Muses of Sicily, essay we now
A somewhat loftier task! Not all men love
Coppice or lowly tamarisk: sing we woods,
Woods worthy of a Consul let them be.
Parkinson’s Disease
© Washington Allston
While spoon-feeding him with one hand
she holds his hand with her other hand,
To A Scientific Friend
© Horace Smith
You say 'tis plain that poets feign,
And from the truth depart;
The Great Palaces of Versailles
© Rita Dove
Nothing nastier than a white person!
She mutters as she irons alterations
The Passing of Love
© Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal
O God, forgive me that I ranged
My life into a dream of love!
Will tears of anguish never wash
The passion from my blood?
An Ode to Himself
© Benjamin Jonson
Where dost thou careless lie,
Buried in ease and sloth?
Knowledge that sleeps doth die;
And this security,
It is the common moth
That eats on wits and arts, and oft destroys them both.
Fame
© Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
HAVE I played fellowship with night, to see
The allied armies break our gates at dawn
The Wild Swans at Coole
© William Butler Yeats
The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty swans.
‘Be Music, Night’
© Kenneth Patchen
Be music, night,
That her sleep may go
Where angels have their pale tall choirs
Silentium
© Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev
Speak not, lie hidden, and conceal
the way you dream, the things you feel.
Snail
© Ho Xuan Huong
Mother and father gave birth to a snail
Night and day I crawl in smelly weeds
Dear prince, if you love me, unfasten my door
Stop, don't poke your finger up my tail!
My Beloved Is Mine, And I Am His
© Francis Quarles
EV'N like two little bank-dividing brooks,
That wash the pebbles with their wanton streams,
And having rang'd and search'd a thousand nooks,
Meet both at length in silver-breasted Thames,
Where in a greater current they conjoyn:
So I my best-beloved's am; so he is mine.
