All Poems

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Soliloquy

© Robinson Jeffers

August and laurelled have been content to speak for an age,

and the ages that follow

Cosmos

© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay

THE tiny thing of painted gauze that flutters in the sun

And sinks upon the breast of night with all its living done;

And Willy, my eldest-born, is gone, you say, little Anne?
Ruddy and white, and strong on his legs, he looks like a man.
And Willy's wife has written: she never was over-wise,
Never the wife for Willy: he would n't take my advice.

San Miniato

© Oscar Wilde

. SEE, I have climbed the mountain side
Up to this holy house of God,
Where once that Angel-Painter trod
Who saw the heavens opened wide,

Trickle, Drops

© Walt Whitman

TRICKLE, drops! my blue veins leaving!

O drops of me! trickle, slow drops,

The Cooling Tower

© Amy Clampitt

By night a laddered diagram
seen from the windows of this
bedroom townrayflowcrs of dread
ascending and descending
identifies the cooling tower,
insomniac vision

Retrospection

© Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch

After C. S. C.

When the hunter-star Orion

Time's Garden

© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay

YEARS are the seedlings which we careless sow

In Time's bare garden. Dead they seem to be--

September

© John Payne

HOW is the world of Summer's splendours shorn!

The rose has had its day; from weald and wold

Extreme Unction

© Ernest Christopher Dowson

Upon the eyes, the lips, the feet,
On all the passages of sense,
The atoning oil is spread with sweet
Renewal of lost innocence.

Branding The Foals

© Padraic Colum

WHY do I look for fire to brand these foals?

What do I need, when all within is fire?

From 'The Hills Of Life'

© Albert Durrant Watson

ERE yet the dawn
Pushed rosy fingers up the arch of day
And smiled its promise to the voiceless prime,
Love sat and patterns wove at life's great loom.

To Emma

© George Gordon Byron

Since now the hour is come at last,
When you must quit your anxious lover;
Since now our dream of bliss is past,
One pang, my girl, and all is over.

The Shadows On The Wall

WHAT mournful influence chills my soul to-night?
I watch the expiring flames that fade and fall,
From which outleap vague shafts of arrowy light,
Pursued by spectral shadows on the wall.

Canzone

Ah me! ah me! when thinking of the years,

The vanished years, alas, I do not find

Behind The House Is The Millet Plot

© Muna Lee

Behind the house is the millet plot,
And past the millet, the stile;
And then a hill where melilot
Grows with wild camomile.

Oh Albania, Poor Albania

© Pashko Vasa

Gather round, maidens, gather round, women
Who with your fair eyes know what weeping is,
Come, let us lament poor Albania,
Who is without honour and reputation,
She has become a widow, a woman with no husband,
She is like a mother who has never had a son!