All Poems
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The Poet and the Dun
© William Shenstone
"These are messengers
That feelingly persuade me what I am." -Shakspeare.
To A Late Comer
© Julia Caroline (Ripley) Dorr
Why didst thou come into my life so late?
If it were morning I could welcome thee
For A Favorite Granddaughter
© Dorothy Parker
Never love a simple lad,
Guard against a wise,
Shun a timid youth and sad,
Hide from haunted eyes.
Spring.
© Robert Crawford
It is the courier of the Seasons come,
September's squire, with dreamy gusts and gleams,
Who posts a vision round the changing sphere,
An ancient meaning in his lovely eyes.
A Flower Garden At Coleorton Hall, Leicestershire.
© William Wordsworth
TELL me, ye Zephyrs! that unfold,
While fluttering o'er this gay Recess,
Pinions that fanned the teeming mould
Of Eden's blissful wilderness,
Did only softly-stealing hours
There close the peaceful lives of flowers?
Netley Abbey
© William Lisle Bowles
Fallen pile! I ask not what has been thy fate;
But when the winds, slow wafted from the main,
A First Confession
© William Butler Yeats
I admit the briar
Entangled in my hair
Did not injure me;
My blenching and trembling,
Nothing but dissembling,
Nothing but coquetry.
The Shadow
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
THE pathway of his mortal life hath wound
Beneath a shadow; just beyond it play
The genial breezes, and the cool brooks stray
Into melodious gushings of sweet sound,
A New Temperance Poem, in Memory of My Departed Parents
© William Topaz McGonagall
My parents were sober living, and often did pray
For their family to abstain from intoxicating drink alway;
Because they knew it would lead them astray
Which no God fearing man will dare to gainsay.
To H.W.L.
© James Russell Lowell
ON HIS BIRTHDAY
I need not praise the sweetness of his song,
Where limpid verse to limpid verse succeeds
Smooth as our Charles, when, fearing lest he wrong
The new moon's mirrored skiff, he slides along,
Full without noise, and whispers in his reeds.
My God, I thank Thee who hast made
© Adelaide Anne Procter
My God, I thank Thee who hast made
The earth so bright;
So full of splendour and of joy,
Beauty and light;
So many glorious things are here,
Noble and right!
The Female Exile
© Charlotte Turner Smith
Written at Brighthelmstone in Nov. 1792.
NOVEMBER'S chill blast on the rough beach is howling,
The surge breaks afar, and then foams to the shore,
Dark clouds o'er the sea gather heavy and scowling,
Tacita
© James Benjamin Kenyon
She roves through shadowy solitudes,
Where scentless herbs and fragile flowers
Pine in the gloom that ever broods
Around her sylvan bowers.
Olney Hymn 11: Jehovah Our Righteousness
© William Cowper
My God, how perfect are Thy ways!
But mine polluted are;
Sin twines itself about my praise,
And slides into my prayer.
Sailing Ships
© Victoria Mary Sackville-West
Lying on Downs above the wrinkling bay
I with the kestrels shared the cleanly day,
Fishing, His Birthday by Michael Sowder : American Life in Poetry #273 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureat
© Ted Kooser
Equipment. I like to paint and draw, and I own enough art supplies to start my own store. And for every hobby there are lots of supplies that seem essential. In this poem we get a whole tackle box full of equipment from Michael Sowder, who lives and fishes in Utah.
Fishing, His Birthday
