All Poems
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A Zong Of Harvest Hwome
© William Barnes
The ground is clear. There's nar a ear
O' stannèn corn a-left out now,
Pauline
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
To die for what we love! Oh! there is power
In the true heart, and pride, and joy, for this;
It is to live without the vanish'd light
That strength is needed. -Anon
Upon The Translation Of The Psalms By Sir Philip Sidney And The Countess Of Pembroke, His Sister
© John Donne
ETERNAL Godfor whom who ever dare
Seek new expressions, do the circle square,
It Was Winter
© Czeslaw Milosz
This is not a place where you sit under a café awning
On a marble piazza, watching the crowd,
Or play the flute at a window over a narrow street
While childrens sandals clatter in the vaulted entryway.
At Nightfall
© Frederick George Scott
O little hands, long vanished in the night-
Sweet fairy hands that were my treasure here-
Punchin' Dough
© Henry Herbert Knibbs
Come, all you young waddies, I'll sing you a song,
Stand back from the wagon--stay where you belong:
I've heard you observin' I'm fussy and slow
While you're punchin' cattle and I'm punchin' dough.
Bob The Fiddler
© William Barnes
Oh! Bob the fiddler is the pride
O' chaps an' maïdens vur an' wide;
Strength
© Robert Browning
Be strong to hope, O heart!
Though day is bright,
The stars can only shine
In the dark night.
Be strong, O heart of mine,
Look toward the light.
Sonnet: On Seeing A Piece Of Our Heavy Artillery Brought Into Action
© Wilfred Owen
Be slowly lifted up, thou long black arm,
Great Gun towering towards Heaven, about to curse;
Sway steep against them, and for years rehearse
Huge imprecations like a blasting charm!
Jack Of The Tules
© Francis Bret Harte
Shrewdly you question, Senor, and I fancy
You are no novice. Confess that to little
Of my poor gossip of Mission and Pueblo
You are a stranger!
Chanson du bol de punch
© Victor Marie Hugo
Je suis la flamme bleue.
J'habite la banlieue,
Le vallon, le coteau ;
Sous l'if et le mélèze,
J'erre au Père-Lachaise,
J'erre au Campo-Santo.
Queen Mab: Part V.
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
'Thus do the generations of the earth
Go to the grave and issue from the womb,
The Peasant And His Angry Lord
© Jean de La Fontaine
'TWAS vain that Gregory a pardon prayed;
For trivial faults the peasant dearly paid;
His throat enflamed-his tender back well beat-
His money gone-and all to make complete,
Without the least deduction for the pain,
The blows and garlic gave the trembling swain.
To Arcady
© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay
"TELL me, Singer, of the way
Winding down to Arcady?
Of the world's roads I am weary--
You, with song so brave and cheery,
Happy troubadour must be
On the way to Arcady?"
Among the Hills
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Through Sandwich notch the west-wind sang
Good morrow to the cotter;
And once again Chocoruas horn
Of shadow pierced the water.
