All Poems
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Wordsworth's Grave
© William Watson
The old rude church, with bare, bald tower, is here;
Beneath its shadow high-born Rotha flows;
Rotha, remembering well who slumbers near,
And with cool murmur lulling his repose
Sonnet LII: What? Dost Thou Mean
© Michael Drayton
What? Dost thou mean to cheat me of my heart?
To take all mine and give me none again?
Or have thine eyes such magic or that art
That what they get they ever do retain?
Humble home. But rum, and charcoal...
© Boris Pasternak
Humble home. But rum, and charcoal
Grog of sketches on the wall,
And the cell becomes a mansion,
And the garret is a hall.
To The Virginian Voyage
© Michael Drayton
You brave heroic minds,
Worthy your country's name,
That honour still pursue,
Go, and subdue,
Whilst loit'ring hinds
Lurke here at home with shame.
Sonnet XX: An Evil Spirit
© Michael Drayton
An evil spirit, your beauty haunts me still,
Wherewith, alas, I have been long possest,
Which ceaseth not to tempt me to each ill,
Nor gives me once but one poor minute's rest;
The Young Warrior
© James Weldon Johnson
Mother, shed no mournful tears,
But gird me on my sword;
And give no utterance to thy fears,
But bless me with thy word.
The Parting
© Michael Drayton
SINCE there 's no help, come let us kiss and part--
Nay, I have done, you get no more of me;
And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart,
That thus so cleanly I myself can free.
Italy : 1. The Lake Of Geneva
© Samuel Rogers
Day glimmered in the east, and the white Moon
Hung like a vapour in the cloudless sky,
Sonnet XXXVIII: Sitting Alone, Love
© Michael Drayton
Sitting alone, Love bids me go and write;
Reason plucks back, commanding me to stay,
Boasting that she doth still direct the way,
Or else Love were unable to endite.
Bonaparte
© Sir Walter Scott
From a rude isle, his ruder lineage came.
The spark, that, from a suburb hovel's hearth
Sonnet XXII: With Fools and Children
© Michael Drayton
To FollyWith fools and children, good discretion bears;
Then, honest people, bear with Love and me,
Nor older yet, nor wiser made by years,
Amongst the rest of fools and children be;
The City at the End of Things
© Archibald Lampman
Beside the pounding cataracts
Of midnight streams unknown to us
'Tis builded in the leafless tracts
And valleys huge of Tartarus.
To the Reader of These Sonnets
© Michael Drayton
Into these Loves who but for Passion looks,
At this first sight here let him lay them by
And seek elsewhere, in turning other books,
Which better may his labor satisfy.
For One Who Went In Spring
© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay
SHE did not go, as others do,
With backward look and beckoning;
With no farewell for anything
She passed the open doorway through.
Sonnet LXIII: Truce, Gentle Love
© Michael Drayton
Truce, gentle Love, a parley now I crave;
Methinks 'tis long since first these wars begun;
The Battle Of Agincourt
© Michael Drayton
Fair stood the wind for France
When we our sails advance,
Nor now to prove our chance
Longer will tarry;
The Coquette
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Alone she sat with her accusing heart,
That, like a restless comrade frightened sleep,
And every thought that found her, left a dart
That hurt her so, she could not even weep.
From the Drama of Charles II
© Douglas Brooke Wheelton Sladen
COME and kiss me, mistress Beauty,
I will give you all that s due tye.
How Many Paltry Foolish Painted Things
© Michael Drayton
How many paltry foolish painted things,
That now in coaches trouble every street,
Shall be forgotten, whom no poet sings,
Ere they be well wrapped in their winding-sheet!
Onions
© William Matthews
How easily happiness begins by
dicing onions. A lump of sweet butter
slithers and swirls across the floor
of the sauté pan, especially if its
errant path crosses a tiny slick
of olive oil. Then a tumble of onions.
