All Poems
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The Woman Of Samaria
© John Newton
Jesus, to what didst thou submit
To save thy dear-bought flock from hell!
Like a pour trav'ller see him sit,
Athirst, and weary, by the well.
Non es meravelha s'eu chan
© Bernard de Ventadorn
A Mo Cortes, lai on ilh es,
tramet lo vers, e ja no.lh pes
car n'ai estat tan lonjamen.
Passing through the world
© Matsuo Basho
Passing through the world
Indeed this is just
Sogi's rain shelter
"Don't say he loves me as before..."
© Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev
* * *
Don't say he loves me as before,
That, as before, he treasures me...
no! He callously destroys my life,
Although I see the knife shake in his hand.
Sir Wilfrid Laurier -- Diplomatist
© Alexander MacGregor Rose
I live on Canada en Bas -
De fines' lan' you see -
An' Oncle Sam, a fr'en of mine,
He live nex' door to me.
Spring Bereaved 2
© William Henry Drummond
Sweet Spring, thou com'st with all thy goodly train,
Thy head with flames, thy mantle bright with flow'rs,
Paradise Lost : Book VIII.
© John Milton
The Angel ended, and in Adam's ear
So charming left his voice, that he a while
In Sickness
© Augustus Montague Toplady
Jesus, since I with thee am one,
Confirm my soul in thee,
And still continue to tread down
The man of sin in me.
The Dreamer
© Madison Julius Cawein
Even as a child he loved to thrid the bowers,
And mark the loafing sunlight's lazy laugh;
The Crystal Cabinet
© William Blake
The Maiden caught me in the wild,
Where I was dancing merrily;
She put me into her Cabinet,
And lock'd me up with a golden key.
A propos de dona Rosa
© Victor Marie Hugo
Au printemps, quand les nuits sont claires,
Quand on voit, vagues tourbillons,
Voler sur les fronts les chimères
Et dans les fleurs les papillons,
Under The Stars And Stripes
© Madison Julius Cawein
High on the world did our fathers of old,
Under the stars and stripes,
The Lanes Of Apple Bloom
© Edgar Albert Guest
DOWN the lanes of apple bloom, we are treading once again,
Down the pathways rosy red trip the women-folk and men.
Love and laughter lead us on, light of heart as children gay,
June is smiling on us now, bidding us to romp and play.
Agnes And The Hill-Man
© William Morris
Weird laid he on her, sore sickness he wrought,
Fowl are a-singing.
That self-same hour to death was she brought.
Agnes, fair Agnes!
