All Poems
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Outside The Village Church
© Alfred Austin
``The old Church doors stand open wide,
Though neither bells nor anthems peal.
Gazing so fondly from outside,
Why do you enter not and kneel?
The Last Reader
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
I sometimes sit beneath a tree
And read my own sweet songs;
Though naught they may to others be,
Each humble line prolongs
A tone that might have passed away
But for that scarce remembered lay.
There Is A Wheel Inside My Head
© William Ernest Henley
There is a wheel inside my head
Of wantonness and wine,
An old, cracked fiddle is begging without,
But the wind with scents of the sea is fed,
And the sun seems glad to shine.
Dirge Of The Dead Sisters
© Rudyard Kipling
Who recalls the twilight and the ranged tents in order
(Violet peaks uplifted through the crystal evening air?)
And the clink of iron teacups and the piteous, noble laughter,
And the faces of the Sisters with the dust upon their hair?
The Lamb Skin
© Edgar Albert Guest
It is not ornamental, the cost is not great,
There are other things far more useful, yet truly I state,
Though of all my possesions, there's none can compare,
With that white leather apron, which all Masons wear.
To Life's Pilgrim
© Geoffrey Chaucer
Savor no more than thee behoven shall,
Rede well thy self that other folk can'st rede,
And Truth thee shalt deliver 'tis no drede.
How many times these low feet staggered
© Emily Dickinson
How many times these low feet staggered --
Only the soldered mouth can tell --
Try -- can you stir the awful rivet --
Try -- can you lift the hasps of steel!
Tribute
© Aline Murray Kilmer
DEBORAH and Christopher brought me dandelions,
Kenton brought me buttercups with summer on their breath,
But Michael brought an autumn leaf, like lacy filigree,
A wan leaf, a ghost leaf, beautiful as death.
Lights Along the Mile
© Alfred Thomas Chandler
THE NIGHT descends in glory, and adown the purple west
The young moon, like a crescent skiff, upon some fairy quest,
To The Belgians 7
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Still for your frontier stands
The host that knew no dread,
Your little, stubborn land's
Nameless, immortal dead.
The Paradox Of Time
© Henry Austin Dobson
Time goes, you say? Ah no!
Alas, Time stays, we go;
Or else, were this not so,
What need to chain the hours,
For Youth were always ours?
Time goes, you say?-ah no!
Say, What Is Honour?--Tis The Finest Sense
© William Wordsworth
SAY, what is Honour?--'Tis the finest sense
Of 'justice' which the human mind can frame,
Intent each lurking frailty to disclaim,
And guard the way of life from all offence
Primavera Mia
© Sara Teasdale
As kings, seeing their lives about to pass,
Take off the heavy ermine and the crown,
A Miltonic Exercise
© Henry Austin Dobson
What need of votive Verse
To strew thy _Laureat Herse_
With that mix'd _Flora_ of th' _Aonian Hill_?
Or _Mincian_ vocall Reed,
That _Cam_ and _Isis_ breed,
When thine own Words are burning in us still?
Phyllis's Age
© Matthew Prior
How old may Phyllis be, you ask,
Whose beauty thus all hearts engages?
To answer is no easy task;
For she has really two ages.
A Couple More Years
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
I've got a couple more years on you, baby...that's all.
I've had more chances to fly and more places to fall.
And it ain't that I'm wiser...
It's only that I've spent more time with my back to the wall.
And I've picked up a couple more years on you, baby.. that's all.
