All Poems

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The Sitter

© Sheldon Allan Silverstein

Mrs. McTwitter was the baby-sitter
I think she's a little bit crazy.
She thinks a baby-sitter's supposed
To sit upon the baby.

Still to be neat, still to be dressed,
As you were going to a feast;
Still to be powdered, still perfumed:
Lady, it is to be presumed,
Though art's hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.

On A Gentlewoman's Blistred Lipp

© William Strode

Hide not that sprouting lipp, nor kill
The juicy bloome with bashfull skill:
Know it is an amorous dewe
That swells to court thy corall hewe,

On A Gentlewoman That Sung And Play'd Upon A Lute

© William Strode

Be silent you still musique of the Sphears,
And every sense make haste to be all ears,
And give devout attention to her aires,
To which the Gods doe listen as to prayers

Son Of A Scoundrel

© Sheldon Allan Silverstein

Big Barney Fitch, he got soddenly rich
He got a big fancy house in Melbourne
With buckets of loot and big black leather boots
Acting so haughty and well-born

On A Friends Absence

© William Strode

Come, come, I faint: thy heavy stay
Doubles each houre of the day:
The winged hast of nimble love
Makes aged Time not seeme to move:

Girl's Song

© William Butler Yeats

I went out alone
To sing a song or two,
My fancy on a man,
And you know who.

On A Dissembler

© William Strode

Could any shewe where Plynyes people dwell
Whose head stands in their breast; who cannot tell
A smoothing lye because their open hart
And lippes are joyn'd so neare, I would depart

An Old-Fashioned Love Song

© Henry Cuyler Bunner

Tell me what is writ above,
And I will tell you why I love.

Of Death & Resurrection

© William Strode

Like to the rowling of an eye,
Or like a starre shott from the skye,
Or like a hand upon a clock,
Or like a wave upon a rock,

The Lay Of St. Odille

© Richard Harris Barham

Odille was a maid of a dignified race;

Her father, Count Otto, was lord of Alsace;

O When Will Cupid Shew Such Arte

© William Strode

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Nox Nocti Indicat Scientiam

© William Habington

When I survey the bright
Celestial sphere,
So rich with jewels hung, that night
Doth like an Ethiop bride appear,

Melancholly

© William Strode

Hence, hence, all you vaine delights,
As short as are the nights
Wherein you spend your folly:
Ther's nought in this life sweete,

On Pitz Languard

© John Hay

I stood on the top of Pitz Languard,
And heard three voices whispering low,
Where the Alpine birds in their circling ward
Made swift dark shadows upon the snow.

An Answer

Could I be sure that I should die

The moment you had ceased to love me,

Keepe On Your Maske And Hide Your Eye

Keepe on your maske, and hide your eye,
For with beholding you I dye:
Your fatall beauty, Gorgon-like,
Dead with astonishment will strike;
Your piercing eyes if them I see
Are worse than basilisks to mee.