All Poems

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Dear Chloe, how blubber'd is that pretty face;
Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hair all uncurl'd:
Prythee quit this caprice; and (as old Falstaff says)
Let us e'en talk a little like folks of this world.

When All The World Is Hidden

© Robert Laurence Binyon

When all the world is hidden
And there is only you,
When bosom beats to bosom
As if the heart broke through,

Simon Legree

© Vachel Lindsay

He wore hip-boots, and would wade all day
To capture his slaves that had fled away.
BUT HE WENT DOWN TO THE DEVIL.

My Sad Self

© Allen Ginsberg

To Frank OHara

The Two Boys

© Charles Lamb

I saw a boy with eager eye

Open a book upon a stall,

Calidore: A Fragment

© John Keats

The sidelong view of swelling leafiness,
Which the glad setting sun, in gold doth dress;
Whence ever, and anon the jay outsprings,
And scales upon the beauty of its wings.

His Mother

© James Whitcomb Riley

DEAD! my wayward boy--_my own_--
Not _the Law's!_ but _mine_--the good
God's free gift to me alone,
Sanctified by motherhood.

In Memoriam A. H. H. 116

© Alfred Tennyson

Yet less of sorrow lives in me
For days of happy commune dead;
Less yearning for the friendship fled,
Than some strong bond which is to be.

Adam And Eve

© Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall

And when day wearied and night grew stronger,
And they slept as the beautiful must,
Then she bided a little longer,
And blossomed from their dust.

The Cotton Boll

© Henry Timrod

While I recline

At ease beneath

Er Confessore (The Confessor)

© Giuseppe Gioacchino Belli

Padre… - Dite il confiteor. - L'ho detto. -
L'atto di contrizione? - Già l'ho ffatto. -
Avanti dunque. - Ho detto cazzo-matto
A mi' marito, e j'ho arzato un grossetto. -

A Cuckoo Song

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

Crowns are for kings to wear, sad crowns of gold
Over tired heads that ache, world--cares untold.
Not on thy happy brows, sweet bird of summer,
Set we such crowns to--day, thou Spring's new--comer.

The Six Sorrows

There are six sorrows in my heart
Red Allen, Clare, and Joan,
Sweet Bet, and Jock, and little Roy;
Six sorrows all my own.

Uncle Jim

White folks is white, says uncle Jim;
A platitude, I sneer;
And then I tell him so is milk,
And the froth upon his beer.

No Resurrection

Friendship, when a friend meant a helping sword,
Faithfulness, when power and life were its fruits, hatred, when
the hated
Held steel at your throat or had killed your children, were more
than metaphors.
Life and the world were as bright as knives.

The Rigs O' Barley

© Robert Burns

It was upon a Lammas night,

When corn rigs are bonnie,

The Sleepers

© Sylvia Plath

No map traces the street
Where those two sleepers are.
We have lost track of it.
They lie as if under water
In a blue, unchanging light,
The French window ajar