All Poems
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The Prisoners Of Naples
© John Greenleaf Whittier
I HAVE been thinking of the victims bound
In Naples, dying for the lack of air
And sunshine, in their close, damp cells of pain,
Where hope is not, and innocence in vain
Lovest Thou Me?
© John Newton
'Tis a point I long to know,
Oft it causes anxious thought;
Do I love the Lord, or no?
Am I his, or am I not?
Thick-headed Thoughts: Part 1
© Adam Lindsay Gordon
I've something of the bull-dog in my breed,
The spaniel is developed somewhat less;
Corpses In The Woods
© Ernst Toller
A dung heap of rotting corpses:
Glazed eyes, bloodshot,
Brains split, guts spewed out
The air poisoned by the stink of corpses
A single awful cry of madness.
The House Of The Commonwealth
© Roderic Quinn
We sent a word across the seas that said,
"The house is finished and the doors are wide,
Come, enter in.
A stately house it is, with tables spread,
Where men in liberty and love abide
With hearts akin.
Calef In Boston, 1692
© John Greenleaf Whittier
IN the solemn days of old,
Two men met in Boston town,
One a tradesman frank and bold,
One a preacher of renown.
Sir Eustace Grey
© George Crabbe
And shall I then the fact deny?
I was--thou know'st--I was begone,
Like him who fill'd the eastern throne,
To whom the Watcher cried aloud;
That royal wretch of Babylon,
Who was so guilty and so proud.
The Voyage Of St. Brendan A.D. 545 - The Buried City
© Denis Florence MacCarthy
Beside that giant stream that foams and swells
Betwixt Hy-Conaill and Moyarta's shore,
And guards the isle where good Senanus dwells,
A gentle maiden dwelt in days of yore.
Picture By Giov. Bellini, In The Church Of The Redentore At Venice
© Richard Monckton Milnes
THE VIRGIN.
Who am I, to be so far exalted
Over all the maidens of Judaea,
That here only in this lonely bosom
The Heathen Pass-ee
© Arthur Clement Hilton
Which I wish to remark,
And my language is plain,
That for plots that are dark
And not always in vain,
The heathen Pass-ee is peculiar,
And the same I would rise to explain.
Bryant Dead!
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
LO! there he lies, our Patriarch Poet, dead!
The solemn angel of eternal peace
Has waved a wand of mystery o'er his head,
Touched his strong heart, and bade his pulses cease.
I'll Not Confer With Sorrow
© Thomas Bailey Aldrich
I'll not confer with Sorrow
Till to-morrow;
But Joy shall have her way
This very day.
To Pius IX
© John Greenleaf Whittier
THE cannon's brazen lips are cold;
No red shell blazes down the air;
And street and tower, and temple old,
Are silent as despair.
Iota Subscript
© Robert Frost
Seek not in me the bit I capital,
Not yet the little dotted in me seek.
If I have in me any I at all,
'Tis the iota subscript of the Greek.
Battle Song
© Bert Leston Taylor
We stand at Armageddon, where fighting
men have stood,
And creeds and races mingle in one great
brotherhood;
The Black Rock
© John Gould Fletcher
Off the long headland, threshed about by round-backed breakers,
There is a black rock, standing high at the full tide;
Off the headland there is emptiness,
And the moaning of the ocean,
And the black rock standing alone.
Chorus Sacerdotum : from Mustapha
© Fulke Greville
O wearisome condition of humanity!
Born under one law, to another bound;
