All Poems
/ page 1934 of 3210 /
In Memory: James T. Fields
© John Greenleaf Whittier
As a guest who may not stay
Long and sad farewells to say
Glides with smiling face away,
A Year's Courtship
© Henry Timrod
I saw her, Harry, first, in March -
You know the street that leadeth down
By the old bridge's crumbling arch? -
Just where it leaves the dusty town
Faute De Mieux
© Dorothy Parker
Travel, trouble, music, art,
A kiss, a frock, a rhyme-
I never said they feed my heart,
But still they pass my time.
IX: Song: To Celia
© Benjamin Jonson
Drink to me, only, with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
A Flower. Painted By Simon Varelst
© Matthew Prior
When famed Varelst this little wonder drew,
Flora vouchsafed the growing works to view;
Finding the painter's science at a stand,
The goddess snatch'd the pencil from his hand,
And finishing the piece, she smiling said,
Behold one work of mine that ne'er shall fade.
A Farewell
© Harriet Monroe
GOOD-BY: nay, do not grieve that it is over
The perfect hour;
That the winged joy, sweet honey-loving rover,
Flits from the flower.
Le Mauvais Moine (The Bad Monk)
© Charles Baudelaire
Les cloîtres anciens sur leurs grandes murailles
Etalaient en tableaux la sainte Vérité,
Dont l'effet réchauffant les pieuses entrailles,
Tempérait la froideur de leur austérité.
The Force Of Prayer, Or, The Founding Of Bolton, A Tradition
© William Wordsworth
"What is good for a bootless bene?"
With these dark words begins my Tale;
And their meaning is, whence can comfort spring
When Prayer is of no avail?
To Mr. Murray
© George Gordon Byron
To hook the reader, you, John Murray,
Have publish'd 'Anjou's Margaret,
Which won't be sold off in a hurry
(At least, it has not been as yet);
The Test
© Edgar Albert Guest
You can brag about the famous men you know;
You may boast about the great men you have met,
Sonnet LV.
© Charlotte Turner Smith
RETURN OF THE NIGHTINGALE.
Written in May, 1791.
BORNE on the warm wing of the western gale,
How tremulously low is heard to float
The Mystery
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
I WAS not; now I am a few days hence
I shall not be; I fain would look before
Before The End
© Madison Julius Cawein
How does the Autumn in her mind conclude
The tragic masque her frosty pencil writes,
The Black Preacher: A Breton Legend
© James Russell Lowell
Something like this, then, my guide had to tell,
Perched on a saint cracked across when he fell;
But since I might chance give his meaning a wrench,
He talking his _patois_ and I English-French,
I'll put what he told me, preserving the tone,
In a rhymed prose that makes it half his, half my own.
Old Santeclaus
© Clement Clarke Moore
Old SANTECLAUS with much delight
His reindeer drives this frosty night,
Oer chimney-tops, and tracks of snow,
To bring his yearly gifts to you.
The Temperance Movement
© Charles Harpur
A POWER is stirringa broad light has shone
Amid the nationsin the wilderness
The Victor Of Antietam
© Herman Melville
When tempest winnowed grain from bran;
And men were looking for a man,
Authority called you to the van,
McClellan:
Along the line the plaudit ran,
As later when Antietam's cheers began.
To William Shelley
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
I.
The billows on the beach are leaping around it,
The bark is weak and frail,
The sea looks black, and the clouds that bound it
