All Poems

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Mould and Vase [GREEK POTTERY OF AREZZO.]

© Edith Wharton

HERE in the jealous hollow of the mould,

Faint, light-eluding, as templed in the breast

Nature, Betrothed and Wedded

© Paul Hamilton Hayne

HAVE you not noted how in early spring,
From out the forests, past the murmuring brooks,
O'er the hillsides, Nature, with airy grace,
Like some fair virgin, touched by lights and shades,

Let the musicians begin,
Let every instrument awaken and instruct us
In love’s willing river and love’s dear discipline:
We wait, silent, in consent and in the penance
Of patience, awaiting the serene exaltation
Which is the liberation and conclusion of expiation.

Illumination

© Robert Laurence Binyon

Is it joy, or is it peace,
Senses' magical release,
That triumphant swells my heart
Where I walk the fields apart?

The Course Of Love

© Sant Surdas

Seeing Radha stand alone, Krishna came from behind and blindfolded her with his hands

To my Comrade, Moses J. Jackson, Scoffer at this Scholarship

© Alfred Edward Housman

As we went walking far and wide

Through silent fields and countryside,

Flowers

© George Peele

Not Iris in her pride and bravery

Adorns her arch with such variety;

To Fool or Knave

© Benjamin Jonson

Thy praise or dispraise is to me alike:

One doth not stroke me, nor the other strike.

Song Of Starlings

© Padraic Colum

WE'VE watched the starlings flocking past the statues

That we have often seen in other cities

Orpheus with his Lute Made Trees

© William Shakespeare

Orpheus with his Lute made Trees,

And the Mountaine tops that freeze,

Tomb (Of Verlaine)

© Stéphane Mallarme

The black rock enraged that the north wind rolls it on
Will not stop itself, nor, under pious hands, still
Cease testing its resemblance to human ill
As if to bless some fatal cast of bronze.

A Vision of a Wrangler, of a University, of Pedantry, and of Philosophy

© James Clerk Maxwell

Deep St. Mary’s bell had sounded,

And the twelve notes gently rounded

Braggart

© Dorothy Parker

The days will rally, wreathing
Their crazy tarantelle;
And you must go on breathing,
But I'll be safe in hell.

Mine - by the Right of the White Election! (411)

Mine - by the Right of the White Election!
Mine - by the Royal Seal!
Mine - by the sign in the Scarlet prison -
Bars - cannot conceal!

The Grand Canyon

How still it is! Dear God, I hardly dare
To breathe, for fear the fathomless abyss
Will draw me down into eternal sleep.

Volpone: Come my Celia, let us prove

Come my Celia, let us prove,

While we may, the sports of love.

In Misty Blue

In misty blue the lark is heard

Above the silent homes of men;

Statement with Rhymes

© Weldon Kees

Plurality is all. I sympathize, but cannot grieve
too long for those who wear their dialectics on their sleeves.
The pattern’s one I sometimes rather like; there’s really nothing wrong
with it for some. But I should add: It doesn’t wear for long,
before I push the elevator bell and quickly leave.