All Poems
/ page 1771 of 3210 /
Song IV
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
Oh roses for the flush of youth,
And laurel for the perfect prime;
But pluck an ivy branch for me
Grown old before my time.
The Burning Babe
© Robert Southwell
As I in hoary winter’s night stood shivering in the snow,
Surpris’d I was with sudden heat which made my heart to glow;
The Ghost-Yard Of The Goldenrod
© Bliss William Carman
WHEN the first silent frost has trod
The ghost-yard of the goldenrod,
And laid the blight of his cold hand
Upon the warm autumnal land,
The Props assist the House (729)
© Emily Dickinson
The Props assist the House
Until the House is built
Fragment 6: The Moon, how definite its orb!
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
The Moon, how definite its orb!
Moon Fairies
© Madison Julius Cawein
THE moon, a circle of gold,
O'er the crowded housetops rolled,
And peeped in an attic, where,
'Mid sordid things and bare,
Sonnet XL: Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all
© William Shakespeare
Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all:
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
Are The Children At Home?
© Margaret Elizabeth Sangster
Each day when the glow of sunset
Fades in the western sky,
On a Dead Child
© John Hall Wheelock
Perfect little body, without fault or stain on thee,
With promise of strength and manhood full and fair!
Though cold and stark and bare,
The bloom and the charm of life doth awhile remain on thee.
To Dick, On His Sixth Birthday
© Sara Teasdale
Tho' I am very old and wise,
And you are neither wise nor old,
When I look far into your eyes,
I know things I was never told:
Zebra
© C. K. Williams
Kids once carried tin soldiers in their pockets as charms
against being afraid, but how trust soldiers these days
not to load up, aim, blast the pants off your legs?
Drunk
© Ada Cambridge
Put him in prison! Confiscate his bowl!
Away with him and the accursèd drink
That wrecks his body and degrades his soul,
And makes him loathsome to clean men! But think-
He had no choice. It was his only share
Of all its pleasures that the world could spare.
The Building of Light
© Stephen Edgar
Mauve mist-shadow cloaks the sky’s
River-blurred, inchoate border.
Dawn’s old story; and light tries—
Not the last time—to devise
Lasting order;
The End of Science Fiction
© Paul Eluard
This is not fantasy, this is our life.
We are the characters
Town Eclogues: Saturday; The Small-Pox
© Lady Mary Wortley Montagu
FLAVIA. THE wretched FLAVIA on her couch reclin'd,
Thus breath'd the anguish of a wounded mind ;
A glass revers'd in her right hand she bore,
For now she shun'd the face she sought before.
