All Poems
/ page 1799 of 3210 /
Translation
© Oliver Goldsmith
CHASTE are their instincts, faithful is their fire,
No foreign beauty tempts to false desire;
X Minus X
© Kenneth Fearing
Still there will be your desire, and hers, and his hopes and theirs,
Your laughter, their laughter,
Your curse and his curse, her reward and their reward, their dismay and his dismay and her dismay and yours—
When on the Marge of Evening
© Louise Imogen Guiney
When on the marge of evening the last blue light is broken,
And winds of dreamy odour are loosened from afar,
Or when my lattice opens, before the lark hath spoken,
On dim laburnum-blossoms, and morning’s dying star,
How She Went To Ireland
© Thomas Hardy
Doras gone to Ireland
Through the sleet and snow;
Promptly she has gone there
In a ship, although
Why shes gone to Ireland
Dora does not know.
My Last Afternoon with Uncle Devereux Winslow
© Robert Lowell
a black pile and a white pile....
Come winter,
Uncle Devereux would blend to the one color.
God Is My Witness
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
God knows it. And he knows how the world's tear
Touched me. And He is witness of my wrath,
How it was kindled against murderers
Who slew for gold, and how upon their path
I met them. Since which day the World in arms
Strikes at my life with angers and alarms.
Black Earth
© Marianne Clarke Moore
Openly, yes,
With the naturalness
Of the hippopotamus or the alligator
When it climbs out on the bank to experience the
The Japanese Wife
© Charles Bukowski
O lord, he said, Japanese women,
real women, they have not forgotten,
In the Carpenter's Shop
© Sara Teasdale
Mary sat in the corner dreaming,
Dim was the room and low,
While in the dusk, the saw went screaming
To and fro.
The Gift (To Iris, In Bow Street, Covent Garden)
© Oliver Goldsmith
SAY, cruel IRIS, pretty rake,
Dear mercenary beauty,
What annual offering shall I make,
Expressive of my duty?
My Picture Left in Scotland
© Benjamin Jonson
I now think Love is rather deaf than blind,
For else it could not be
What Is Flirtation?
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
What is flirtation? Really,
How can I tell you that?
But when she smiles I see its wiles,
And when he lifts his hat.
Hera
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
Save that mild murmurings sounding vague and far,
From suppliant women--through frail-hearted dread
Touched the shy pulses of that strange repose,
Till the last petal dropped from sunset's rose,
And gleamed through twilight, like a flawless star,
The chastened glory of proud Hera's head!
Sonnet CXLII: Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate
© William Shakespeare
Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate,
Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving.
The Angel In The House. Book I. Canto IV.
© Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore
III Compensation
That nothing here may want its praise,
Know, she who in her dress reveals
A fine and modest taste, displays
More loveliness than she conceals.
You Say, Columbus with his Argosies
© Trumbull Stickney
You say, Columbus with his argosies
Who rash and greedy took the screaming main
Thunder In The Garden
© William Morris
When the boughs of the garden hang heavy with rain
And the blackbird reneweth his song,
And the thunder departing yet rolleth again,
I remember the ending of wrong.
The Anzac on the Wall
© Anonymous
Loitering in a country town, 'cos I had some time to spare
I went into an antique shop, to see what was there.
Bikes and pumps, and kero lamps, the old shop had it all,
then I was taken prisoner, by the Anzac on the wall.
