All Poems
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Winter
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
How large that thrush looks on the bare thorn-tree!
A swarm of such, three little months ago,
The Angel of Life
© Richard Rowe
LIFES Angel watched a happy child at play,
Wreathing the riches of the blushing May:
Italy : 16. St. Mark's Rest
© Samuel Rogers
Over how many tracts, vast, measureless,
Ages on ages roll, and none appear
Save the wild hunter ranging for his prey;
While on this spot of earth, the work of man,
King Saul at Gilboa
© Henry Kendall
With noise of battle and the dust of fray,
Half hid in fog, the gloomy mountain lay;
Oh, Fortune!
© Queen Elizabeth I
Oh, Fortune! how thy restlesse wavering state
Hath fraught with cares my troubled witt!
The Snake Charmer
© Sarojini Naidu
WHITHER dost thou hide from the magic of my flute-call?
In what moonlight-tangled meshes of perfume,
Where the clustering keovas guard the squirrel's slumber,
Where the deep woods glimmer with the jasmine's bloom?
Life
© Edith Wharton
We climbed the slopes of solitude, and there
Life met a god, who challenged her and said:
"Thy pipe against my lyre!" But "Wait!" she laughed,
And in my live flank dug a finger-hole,
And wrung new music from it. Ah, the pain!
The End Of May
© Charles Lamb
"Our governess is not in school,
So we may talk a bit;
Sit down upon this little stool,
Come, little Mary, sit:
The Ruined Cottage
© Letitia Elizabeth Landon
None will dwell in that cottage; for, they say
Oppression reft it from an honest man,
The Sonnets To Orpheus: XIX
© Rainer Maria Rilke
Though the world keeps changing its form
as fast as a cloud, still
what is accomplished falls home
to the Primeval.
The Louse-Hunters
© Aldous Huxley
When the child's forehead, full of torments red,
Cries out for sleep and its pale host of dreams,
His two big sisters come unto his bed,
Having long fingers, tipped with silvery gleams.
Prayer to Our Lady of Paphos
© Sappho
Dapple-throned Aphrodite,
eternal daughter of God,
snare-knitter! Don't, I beg you,
The Australian Stockman
© Anonymous
The sun peers o'er yon wooded ridge and thro' the forest dense,
Its golden edge o'er the mountain ledge looks down on the stockyard fence,
Looks down, looks down, looks down on the stockyard fence;
And dark creeks rush thro' the tangled brush, when the shuddering shadows throng
Until they chime in the rude rough rhyme of the wild goburra's song.
