All Poems

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Epitaph of Hipponax

© Theocritus

Tuneful Hipponax rests him here.
Let no base rascal venture near.
Ye who rank high in birth and mind
Sit down--and sleep, if so inclined.

The Brook

© Madison Julius Cawein

To it the forest tells

The mystery that haunts its heart and folds

On The Death Of Rev. William Benwell, M.A.

© William Lisle Bowles

Thou camest with kind looks, when on the brink

Almost of death I strove, and with mild voice

Memory

© Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilev

Only snakes shed their skin,
So their souls can age and grow.
We, alas, do not resemble snakes,
We change souls, not bodies.

The Bride Of The Nile - Act II

Belkís. I cannot do these sums
So long before the date. In the meanwhile talk to me.
I want to be amused. Life will go drearily
If we are to be like this. Let us play at something--chess,
Or draughts, or dominoes. Ask me a thing to guess--
An intellectual game.

To the Queen at Oxford

© Henry King

Great Lady! That thus quite against our use,
We speak your welcome by an English Muse,
And in a vulgar tongue our zeales contrive,
Is to confess your large prerogative,

When I Too Long Have Looked Upon Your Face

© Edna St. Vincent Millay

When I too long have looked upon your face,

Wherein for me a brightness unobscured

Homer's Hymn To Castor And Pollux

© Percy Bysshe Shelley

Ye wild-eyed Muses, sing the Twins of Jove,
Whom the fair-ankled Leda, mixed in love
With mighty Saturns Heaven-obscuring Child,
On Taygetus, that lofty mountain wild,

Swift's Pastoral

© Padraic Colum

ESTHER
I know the answer: 'tis ingenious.
I'm tired of your riddles, Doctor Swift.

The Yankee Volunteers

© William Makepeace Thackeray

"A surgeon of the United States' army says that on inquiring of
the Captain of his company, he found that NINE-TENTHS of the men
had enlisted on account of some female difficulty."Morning Paper.

Sleeping for the Flag

© Henry Clay Work

Sleeping to waken
In this weary world no more;
Sleeping for your true-lov'd country, brother,
Sleeping for the flag you bore.

In Camp (Camp-ey)

© Jibanananda Das

Here on the edge of the forest I pitched camp.
All night long in pleasant southern breezes
By the moon's light
I listen to the call of a doe in heat.
To whom is she calling?

Hymn of Praise

Encompassed by the psalm of hill and stream,
By hymns august with their majestic theme,
Here in the evening of exalted days
To Thee, our Friend, we bow with breath of praise.

To Thomas Moore, Esq.

Here's a health to thee, Bard of Erin!

To the goblet's brim we will fill;

In Summer

Oh, summer has clothed the earth
In a cloak from the loom of the sun!
And a mantle, too, of the skies' soft blue,
And a belt where the rivers run.

Kitties Toys

And Johnny beats the wee ones, the small ones, the weak ones,
He takes their playthings from them in the name of liberty.
When Johnny gets a whacking, a whacking, a whacking,
When Johnny gets a whacking, I think he'll let me be,
And I shall have my penny, my penny, my penny,
And I shall buy a bright flag to wave in victory.

© Sylvia Plath

I can taste the tin of the sky -- the real tin thing.
Winter dawn is the color of metal,
The trees stiffen into place like burnt nerves.
All night I have dreamed of destruction, annihilations --