All Poems

/ page 1999 of 3210 /

Order by :

The Solitary

© Madison Julius Cawein

Upon the mossed rock by the spring
She sits, forgetful of her pail,
Lost in remote remembering
Of that which may no more avail.

Women's Harvest Song

© Amy Lowell

I am waving a ripe sunflower,
I am scattering sunflower pollen to the four world-quarters.
I am joyful because of my melons,
I am joyful because of my beans,
I am joyful because of my squashes.

Heat

© Archibald Lampman

From plains that reel to southward, dim,

The road runs by me white and bare;

Ode to Superstition

© Samuel Rogers

I. 1.
Hence, to the realms of Night, dire Demon, hence!
Thy chain of adamant can bind
That little world, the human mind,

The Boy Mind

© Edgar Albert Guest

WISH I was only as bright as my boy,

Wish I could think of the things that he springs;

Job Work

© James Whitcomb Riley

"Write me a rhyme of the present time".
And the poet took his pen
And wrote such lines as the miser minds
Hide in the hearts of men.

The Notion Of Rastus

© Edgar Albert Guest

DERE never was a man on earth
So wonderful or clever,
Dat ever found a way t' live
On dis ole world forever.

Amor Profanus

© Ernest Christopher Dowson

Beyond the pale of memory,

In some mysterious dusky grove;

Negligently the cart--track descends into the valley;
The drench of the rain has passed and the clover breathes;
Scents are abroad; in the valley a mist whitens
Along the hidden river, where the evening smiles.

Quaaludes Again

© Sheldon Allan Silverstein

She fumbles and stumbles
And falls down the stairs,
Makes love to the leg of the dining room chair.
She's ready for animals, women or men.
She's doing Quaaludes again.

'Everyone's Friend'

© Henry Lawson

Nobodys Enemy down and out
Game to the end
And he mostly dies with no one about
Everyones Friend.

The Three Christmas Waits

© William Makepeace Thackeray

"When this black year began,
This Eighteen-forty-eight,
I was a great great man,
And king both vise and great,
And Munseer Guizot by me did show
As Minister of State.

When Lincoln Died

© Katharine Lee Bates

A five-year old in a Cape Cod village, twenty miles from the rail,
Falmouth, Falmouth, loveliest Falmouth,
Wearing her silvery, pearl-embroidered ocean mist for a veil;
Her sweet God's Acre a windsome garden whither often would weepers bear
Their gifts of flowers, dear dooryard flowers,
To pale stones carved with a ship or anchor, though no mound was molded there;

A Lament For The Wissahiccon

The waterfall is calling me
With its merry gleesome flow,
And the green boughs are beckoning me,
To where the wild flowers grow:

Us Poets II

Wordsworth wrote some tawdry stuff;
Much of Moore I have forgotten;
Parts of Tennyson are guff;
Bits of Byron, too, are rotten.

Advice To My Best Brother, Coll: Francis Lovelace.

Frank, wil't live unhandsomely? trust not too far
Thy self to waving seas: for what thy star,
Calculated by sure event, must be,
Look in the glassy-epithete, and see.

The Shepherds Calendar - November

© John Clare

The landscape sleeps in mist from morn till noon;
And, if the sun looks through, 'tis with a face
Beamless and pale and round, as if the moon,
When done the journey of her nightly race,