All Poems
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Why, When Our Sun Shines Clearest
© James Clerk Maxwell
Why, when our sun shines clearest,
Why, when our hopes seen nearest,
Last Night-- And This
© James Whitcomb Riley
Last night-- how deep the darkness was!
And well I knew its depths, because
I waded it from shore to shore,
Thinking to reach the light no more.
Doctor Hilaire
© William Henry Drummond
A stranger might say if he see heem drink till he almos' fall,
"Doctor lak dat for sick folk, hes never no use at all,"
But wait till you hear de story dey 're tellin' about heem yet,
An' see if you don't hear somet'ing, mebbe you won't forget.
Ghosts of Dreams
© William Herbert Carruth
We are all of us dreamers of dreams,
On visions our childhood is fed;
And the heart of a child is unhaunted, it seems,
By ghosts of dreams that are dead.
The Mercury's Plaint
© Carolyn Wells
I don't know why I'm slandered so,
If I go high,--if I go low,--
What Grandpa Mouse Said
© Vachel Lindsay
The moons a holy owl-queen.
She keeps them in a jar
Under her arm till evening,
Then sallies forth to war.
First Grade by Ron Koertge : American Life in Poetry #230 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006
© Ted Kooser
It’s been sixty-odd years since I was in the elementary grades, but I clearly remember those first school days in early autumn, when summer was suddenly over and we were all perched in our little desks facing into the future. Here Ron Koertge of California gives us a glimpse of a day like that.
First Grade
Similar
© Edgar Albert Guest
A warship and a woman's hat
Are just alike, I state,
They 're big and ugly, cost a heap,
And soon get out date.
Oft Do I Dream
© Paul Verlaine
Oft do I dream this strange and penetrating dream:
An unknown woman, whom I love, who loves me well,
Who does not every time quite change, nor yet quite dwell
The same,-and loves me well, and knows me as I am.
Jeanne-Marie's Hands
© Arthur Rimbaud
Jeanne-Marie has strong hands; dark hands tanned by the summer,
pale hands like dead hands. Are they the hands of Donna Juana?
Did they get their dusky cream colour
sailing on pools of sensual pleasure?
The Flowers Of Finae
© Thomas Osborne Davis
Bright red is the sun on the waves of Lough Sheelin,
A cool, gentle breeze from the mountain is stealing,
While fair round its islets the small ripples play,
But fairer than all is the Flower of Finae.
The Liner
© John Le Gay Brereton
The foamy waves are swishing
As patiently we thud,
But O the wave of wishing
That surges in my blood!
Go Fetch To Me A Pint
© Robert Burns
Go fetch to me a pint o wine,
And fill it in a silver tassie;
That I may drink, before I go,
A service to my bonie lassie:
Aubade by Dore Kiesselbach : American Life in Poetry #237 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006
© Ted Kooser
An aubade is a poem about separation at dawn, but as you’ll see, this one by Dore Kiesselbach, who lives in Minnesota, is about the complex relationship between a son and his mother.
Aubade
Sonnet madrigal
© Charles Cros
J'ai voulu des jardins pleins de roses fleuries,
J'ai rêvé de l'Eden aux vivantes féeries,
De lacs bleus, d'horizons aux tons de pierreries;
Mais je ne veux plus rien ; il suffit que tu ries.
The Wanderer From The Fold
© Emily Jane Brontë
How few, of all the hearts that loved,
Are grieving for thee now;
And why should mine to-night be moved
With such a sense of woe?
The Children
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
THE children! ah, the children!
Your innocent, joyous ones;
Your daughters, with souls of sunshine;
Your buoyant and laughing sons.
"Love is not love . . . "
© Lesbia Harford
When I was still a child
I thought my love would be
Noble, truthful, brave,
And very kind to me.
