All Poems
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The Wanderer
© Bernhard Severin Ingemann
ALL the sky was dull and drear,
But what cared I!
For my sky shone bright and clear
In Eliza's eye.
Taking Off Emily Dickinson's Clothes
© Billy Collins
First, her tippet made of tulle,
easily lifted off her shoulders and laid
The Shepherdess
© Alice Meynell
SHE walks the lady of my delight
A shepherdess of sheep.
Her flocks are thoughts. She keeps them
white ;
Outbid
© Ellis Parker Butler
When Cupid held an auction sale,
I hastened to his mart,
For I had heard that he would sell
The blue-eyed Doras heart.
Four Riddles
© Lewis Carroll
I
There was an ancient City, stricken down
With a strange frenzy, and for many a day
They paced from morn to eve the crowded town,
And danced the night away.
The Columbiad: Book VI
© Joel Barlow
But of all tales that war's black annals hold,
The darkest, foulest still remains untold;
New modes of torture wait the shameful strife,
And Britain wantons in the waste of life.
Sullen Moods
© Robert Graves
Love, do not count your labour lost
Though I turn sullen, grim, retired
Even at your side; my thought is crossed
With fancies by old longings fired.
Shadows on the Down
© Alfred Noyes
When daffodils danced in Chuck Hatch, and white clouds
Drew their own shadowy purple across the hills,
Mary And John
© William Cowper
If John marries Mary, and Mary alone,
'Tis a very good match between Mary and John.
Should John wed a score, oh, the claws and the scratches!
It can't be a match :-- 'tis a bundle of matches.
Voices Of The Night : A Psalm Of Life
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream! -
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
The Social Order
© Ezra Pound
I
This government official
Whose wife is several years his senior,
Has such a caressing air
When he shakes hands with young ladies.
Sonnet XV: Accuse Me Not
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Accuse me not, beseech thee, that I wear
Too calm and sad a face in front of thine;
Ghost Stories
© Madison Julius Cawein
When the hoot of the owl comes over the hill,
At twelve o'clock when the night is still,
Dirge For A Joker
© Sylvia Plath
Always in the middle of a kiss
Came the profane stimulus to cough;
Always from teh pulpit during service
Leaned the devil prompting you to laugh.
In Laudem Authoris.
© Francis Beaumont
Like to the weake estate of a poore friend,
To whom sweet fortune hath bene euer slow,
The Genesis Of The Butterfly
© Victor Marie Hugo
The dawn is smiling on the dew that covers
The tearful roses; lo, the little lovers
Seaweed
© James Russell Lowell
Not always unimpeded can I pray,
Nor, pitying saint, thine intercession claim;
Too closely clings the burden of the day,
And all the mint and anise that I pay
But swells my debt and deepens my self-blame.
Sonnet LXXI.
© Charlotte Turner Smith
Written at Weymouth in winter.
THE chill waves whiten in the sharp North-east;
Cold, cold the night-blast comes, with sullen sound,
And black and gloomy, like my cheerless breast:
Villa Pamphili
© Arthur Symons
The daisies whiten the warm grass :
I see the sun, a shadow, pass:
And I forget that winter was.
