All Poems
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A Liz Town Humorist
© James Whitcomb Riley
Settin' round the stove, last night,
Down at Wess's store, was me
The Years Progress
© Frances Anne Kemble
I look along the dusty dreary way,
So lately strew'd with blossoms fresh and gay,
The sweet procession of the year is past,
And wither'd whirling leaves run rattling fast,
Like throngs of tatter'd beggars following
Where late went by the pageant of a king.
Caelica 29: [The nurse-life wheat within his green husk growing]
© Fulke Greville
The nurse-life wheat within his green husk growing,
Flatters our hope, and tickles our desire,
Nature’s true riches in sweet beauties showing,
Which sets all hearts, with labor’s love, on fire.
Art And Love
© James Whitcomb Riley
He faced his canvas (as a seer whose ken
Pierces the crust of this existence through)
First Thanksgiving
© Sharon Olds
When she comes back, from college, I will see
the skin of her upper arms, cool,
A Baby-Sermon
© George MacDonald
The lightning and thunder
They go and they come:
But the stars and the stillness
Are always at home.
If? See No End In Is
© Frank Bidart
What none knows is when, not if.
Now that your life nears its end
when you turn back what you see
is ruin. You think, It is a prison. No,
it is a vast resonating chamber in
which each thing you say or do is
Over The Carnage
© Walt Whitman
OVER the carnage rose prophetic a voice,
Be not dishearten'd-Affection shall solve the problems of Freedom
yet;
Those who love each other shall become invincible-they shall yet
make Columbia victorious.
Report from the Subtropics
© Billy Collins
For one thing, there’s no more snow
to watch from an evening window,
and no armfuls of logs to carry into the house
so cumbersome you have to touch the latch with an elbow,
Elegiac Stanzas Suggested By A Picture Of Peele Castle
© William Wordsworth
Ah! then , if mine had been the Painter's hand,
To express what then I saw; and add the gleam,
The light that never was, on sea or land,
The consecration, and the Poet's dream;
Discontinuous Poems
© Fernando António Nogueira Pessoa
The frightful reality of things
Is my everyday discovery.
Each thing is what it is.
How can I explain to anyone how much
I rejoice over this, and find it enough?
Hymn from a Watermelon Pavilion
© Edwin Muir
You dweller in the dark cabin,
To whom the watermelon is always purple,
Whose garden is wind and moon,
Impression Du Matin
© Oscar Wilde
THE Thames nocturne of blue and gold
Changed to a Harmony in grey:
A barge with ochre-coloured hay
Dropt from the wharf: and chill and cold
I Am an Atheist Who Says His Prayers
© Ishmael Reed
I am an atheist who says his prayers.
I am an anarchist, and a full professor at that. I take the loyalty oath.
A Word from the Bards
© Henry Lawson
IT IS New Years Day and I rise to state that here on the Sydney side
The Bards have commenced to fill out of late and theyre showing their binjies with pride
Theyre patting their binjies with pride, old man, and I want you to understand,
That a binjied bard is a bard indeed when he sings in the Southern Land,
Old chaps,
When he sings in the Southern Land.
The Volunteer
© Sir Henry Newbolt
He leap to arms unbidden,
Unneeded, over-bold;
His face by earth is hidden,
His heart in earth is cold.
