All Poems

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A Girl's Sin - In Her Eyes

© Francis Thompson

Cross child! red, and frowning so?
'I, the day just over,
Gave a lock of hair to--no!
How DARE you say, my lover?'

As at sunset I was strayingSilently the wood along,
Damon on his flute was playing,And the rocks gave back the song,
So la, Ia! &c.Softly tow'rds him then he drew me;Sweet each kiss he gave me then!
And I said, "Play once more to me!"And he kindly play'd again,

The Song of the Camp

© James Bayard Taylor

GIVE us a song! the soldiers cried,
The outer trenches guarding,
When the heated guns of the camps allied
Grew weary of bombarding.

The Wanderer's Storm-song.

© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Him whom thou ne'er leavest, Genius,
Thou wilt place upon thy fleecy pinion
When he sleepeth on the rock,--
Thou wilt shelter with thy guardian wing
In the forest's midnight hour.

Gift Of The Great English Translation

© Rabindranath Tagore

Having suffered a lot

Those whose minds are wrought

To The Distant One.

© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

AND have I lost thee evermore?Hast thou, oh fair one, from me flown?
Still in mine ear sounds, as of yore,Thine ev'ry word, thine ev'ry tone.As when at morn the wand'rer's eyeAttempts to pierce the air in vain,
When, hidden in the azure sky,The lark high o'er him chaunts his strain:So do I cast my troubled gazeThrough bush, through forest, o'er the lea;
Thou art invoked by all my lays;Oh, come then, loved one, back to me!1789.*

Little Boy Blue

© George MacDonald

Little Boy Blue lost his way in a wood-
Sing apples and cherries, roses and honey:
He said, "I would not go back if I could,
It's all so jolly and funny!"

Ever And Everywhere.

© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

FAR explore the mountain hollow,
High in air the clouds then follow!

To Belinda.

© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

[This song was also written for Lily. Goethe
mentions, at the end of his Autobiography, that he overheard her
singing it one evening after he had taken his last farewell of her.]

To Francis Beaumont

© Benjamin Jonson

How I do love thee, Beaumont, and thy muse,

That unto me dost such religion use!

The Zilver-Weed

© William Barnes

The zilver-weed upon the green,

Out where my sons an' daughters play'd,

Preface To The Second Edition.

© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

I need scarcely add that I have availed myself of this opportunity
to make whatever improvements have suggested themselves to me in
my original version of these Poems.

The Tunnel

© Robert Laurence Binyon

Sitting with strangers in the hurrying train,
We spoke not to each other. Golden May
Flooded those warm fields greener from the rain,
Then sudden darkness stole it all away.

The Pupil In Magic.

© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

I AM now,--what joy to hear it!--Of the old magician rid;
And henceforth shall ev'ry spiritDo whate'er by me is bid;I have watch'd with rigourAll he used to do,And will now with vigourWork my wonders too.
Wander, wanderOnward lightly,So that rightlyFlow the torrent,And with teeming waters yonderIn the bath discharge its current!And now come, thou well-worn broom,And thy wretched form bestir;
Thou hast ever served as groom,So fulfil my pleasure, sir!On two legs now stand,With a head on top;Waterpail in hand,Haste, and do not stop!

Under A Portrait Of Jukowsky

The charm and sweetness of his magic verse
Will mock the envious years for centuries!
Since youth, on hearing them, for glory burns,
The wordless sorrow comfort in them sees,
And careless joy to wistful musing turns.

Farewell.

To break one's word is pleasure-fraught,To do one's duty gives a smart;
While man, alas! will promise nought,That is repugnant to his heart.Using some magic strains of yore,Thou lurest him, when scarcely calm,
On to sweet folly's fragile bark once more,Renewing, doubling chance of harm.Why seek to hide thyself from me?Fly not my sight--be open then!
Known late or early it must be,And here thou hast thy word again.My duty is fulfill'd to-day,No longer will I guard thee from surprise;

A Triad

Three sang of love together: one with lips

Crimson, with cheeks and bosom in a glow,

November Song.

To the great archer--not to himTo meet whom flies the sun,
And who is wont his features dimWith clouds to overrun--But to the boy be vow'd these rhymes,Who 'mongst the roses plays,
Who hear us, and at proper timesTo pierce fair hearts essays.Through him the gloomy winter night,Of yore so cold and drear,
Brings many a loved friend to our sight,And many a woman dear.Henceforward shall his image fairStand in yon starry skies,

To Charlotte.

'MIDST the noise of merriment and glee,'Midst full many a sorrow, many a care,
Charlotte, I remember, we remember thee,How, at evening's hour so fair,
Thou a kindly hand didst reach us,When thou, in some happy placeWhere more fair is Nature s face,Many a lightly-hidden trace
Of a spirit loved didst teach us.Well 'tis that thy worth I rightly knew,--That I, in the hour when first we met,While the first impression fill'd me yet,