All Poems

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White Magic

© Edith Nesbit

This is the room to which she came,

And Spring itself came with her;

Extempore Effusion upon the Death of James Hogg

© William Wordsworth

Nor has the rolling year twice measured,
From sign to sign, its stedfast course,
Since every mortal power of Coleridge
Was frozen at its marvellous source;

PUT every tiny robe away!
The stitches all were set with tears,
Slow, tender drops of joys; to-day
Their rain would wither hopes or fears:
Bitter enough to daunt the moth
That longs to fret this dainty cloth.

Failures

© Edgar Albert Guest

'Tis better to have tried in vain,
Sincerely striving for a goal,
Than to have lived upon the plain
An idle and a timid soul.

As It Is

© Edgar Albert Guest

I might wish the world were better,

I might sit around and sigh

A Love Song

© Duncan Campbell Scott

I gave her a rose in early June,

Fed with the sun and the dew,

The Oubit

© Charles Kingsley

It was an hairy oubit, sae proud he crept alang,
A feckless hairy oubit, and merrily he sang-
'My Minnie bad me bide at hame until I won my wings;
I show her soon my soul's aboon the warks o' creeping things.'

The Fold

© Alice Meynell

BEHOLD,

The time is now! Bring back, bring back

The Naiads' Music: From A Faun's Holiday

© Robert Nichols

Come, ye sorrowful, and steep
Your tired brows in a nectarous sleep:
For our kisses lightlier run
Than the traceries of the sun

A Test Of Love

© James Whitcomb Riley

"Now who shall say he loves me not."

He wooed her first in an atmosphere

The Sea Is Full Of Wandering Foam

© William Ernest Henley

The sea is full of wandering foam,
The sky of driving cloud;
My restless thoughts among them roam . . .
The night is dark and loud.

The Coloured Hours

© Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall

GRAY hours have cities,

Green hours have rhymes

A Rose O The Hills

© Madison Julius Cawein

The hills look down on wood and stream,
On orchard-land and farm;
And o'er the hills the azure-gray
Of heaven bends the livelong day
With thoughts of calm and storm.

The Penalty Of Genius

© James Whitcomb Riley

"When little 'Pollus Morton he's
A-go' to speak a piece, w'y, nen
The Teacher smiles an' says 'at she's
Most proud, of all her little men
An' women in her school--'cause 'Poll
He allus speaks the best of all.

Couldn't Live Without You

You're just a little fellow with a lot of funny ways,
Just three-foot-six of mischief set with eyes that fairly blaze;
You're always up to something with those busy hands o' yours,
And you leave a trail o' ruin on the walls an' on the doors,
An' I wonder, as I watch you, an' your curious tricks I see,
Whatever is the reason that you mean so much to me.

Image From D'Orleans

© Ezra Pound

Young men riding in the street
In the bright new season
Spur without reason
Causing their steeds to leap.

"The Heart Knoweth Its Own Bitterness"

THE heart knoweth? If this be true indeed
Then the thing that I bear in my bosom is not a heart;
For it knows no more than a hollow, whispering reed
That answers to every wind.
I am sick of the thing! I think we had better part.