All Poems
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Lie A-Bed
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
Lie a-bed,
Sleepy head,
Shut up eyes, bo-peep;
Till daybreak
Never wake: -
Baby, sleep.
Salve!
© Edward Thomas
TO live within a cave--it is most good;
But, if God make a day,
And some one come, and say,
'Lo! I have gather'd faggots in the wood!'
E'en let him stay,
And light a fire, and fan a temporal mood!
Ibant Obscur?
© Edward Thomas
To-night I saw three maidens on the beach,
Dark-robed descending to the sea,
So slow, so silent of all speech,
And visible to me
Only by that strange drift-light, dim, forlorn,
Of the sun's wreck and clashing surges born.
Reply To Some Verses Of J.M.B. Pigot, Esq. On The Cruelty Of His Mistress
© George Gordon Byron
Why, Pigot, complain of this damsel's disdain,
Why thus in despair do you fret?
For months you may try, yet, believe me, a sigh
Will never obtain a coquette.
I bended unto me a Bough
© Brown Thomas Edward
I bended unto me a bough of May,That I might see and smell:It bore it in a sort of way,It bore it very well
To The Leaven'd Soil They Trod
© Walt Whitman
TO the leaven'd soil they trod, calling, I sing, for the last;
(Not cities, nor man alone, nor war, nor the dead,
Dora
© Edward Thomas
SHE knelt upon her brother's grave,
My little girl of six years old--
He used to be so good and brave,
The sweetest lamb of all our fold;
Stellas Birth-Day: A Great Bottle Of Wine, Long Buried, Being That Day Dug Up. 1722-3
© Jonathan Swift
Resolv'd my annual verse to pay,
By duty bound, on Stella's day,
Furnish'd with paper, pens, and ink,
I gravely sat me down to think:
Disguises
© Edward Thomas
I have an arbour wherein came a toad
Most hideous to see
Immediate, seizing staff or goad,
I smote it cruelly.
Then all the place with subtle radiance glowed
I looked, and it was He!
Penumbra
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
I DID not look upon her eyes,
(Though scarcely seen, with no surprise,
Land, Ho!
© Edward Thomas
I know tis but a loom of land,
Yet is it land, and so I will rejoice,
I know I cannot hear His voice
Upon the shore, nor see Him stand;
Yet is it land, ho! land.
The Nevermore
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Mark me, how still I am! But should there dart
One moment through my soul the soft surprise
Of that winged Peace which lulls the breath of sighs,--
Then shalt thou see me smile, and turn apart
Thy visage to mine ambush at thy heart
Sleepless with cold commemorative eyes.
My Garden
© Edward Thomas
A garden is a lovesome thing, God wot!
Rose plot,
Fringed pool,
Ferned grot--
Sonnet 61: "Is it thy will, thy image should keep open..."
© William Shakespeare
Is it thy will, thy image should keep open
My heavy eyelids to the weary night?
Pain
© Edward Thomas
The Man that hath great griefs I pity not;
Tis something to be great
In any wise, and hint the larger state,
Though but in shadow of a shade, God wot!
If Thou Could'st Empty All Thyself Of Self
© Edward Thomas
If thou could'st empty all thyself of self,
Like to a shell dishabited,
Then might He find thee on the ocean shelf,
And say, "This is not dead,"
And fill thee with Himself instead.
Picture of Autumn
© Thomas Chatterton
When autumn, bleak and sun-burnt, do appear,
With his gold hand gilting the falling leaf,
The Terrestrial
© Vlanes (Vladislav Nekliaev)
The air heaving like a wounded fish,
breathing through its purplish sandy gills,
letting in the salty gale, fluttering its
violet fan-like tail, vast, culminating in the distant mesh
of mist completely ripped by the piercing starving eyes
of planets sitting in their cosmic pits
