All Poems

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A Book Of Strife In The Form Of The Diary Of An Old Soul - March

© George MacDonald

1.

THE song birds that come to me night and morn,

Remind me not, remind me not,
Of those beloved, those vanish'd hours,
When all my soul was given to thee;
Hours that may never be forgot,
Till Time unnerves our vital powers,
And thou and I shall cease to be.

Gently on the Stream of Time

© Julia A Moore

Gently on the stream of time,

We are floating day by day,

By the Rivers of Babylon We Sat Down and Wept

© Lord Byron

We sat down and wept by the waters
Of Babel, and thought of the day
When our foe, in the hue of his slaughters,
Made Salem's high places his prey;
And ye, oh her desolate daughters!
Were scattered all weeping away.

A Sunset

© William Watson

Westward a league the city lay, with one

Cloud's imminent umbrage o'er it: when behold,

I Speak Not

© Lord Byron

I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name;
There is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame;
But the tear that now burns on my cheek may impart
The deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart.

Olney Hymn 1: Walking With God

© William Cowper

Oh! for a closer walk with God,
A calm and heavenly frame;
A light to shine upon the road
That leads me to the Lamb!

The Prisoner of Chillon

© Lord Byron

I
My hair is gray, but not with years,
Nor grew it white
In a single night,

To Romance

© Lord Byron

Parent of golden dreams, Romance!
Auspicious Queen of childish joys,
Who lead'st along, in airy dance,
Thy votive train of girls and boys;

When Father Shook The Stove

© Edgar Albert Guest

'Twas not so many years ago,

Say, twenty-two or three,

So We'll Go No More a-Roving

© Lord Byron

So we'll go no more a-roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart still be as loving,
And the moon still be as bright.

We'll go no more a-roving

© Lord Byron

SO, we'll go no more a-roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be still as bright.

La mort de oiseaux

© François Coppée

Le soir, au coin du feu, j'ai pensé bien des fois
A la mort d'un oiseau, quelque part, dans les bois.
Pendant les tristes jours de l'hiver monotone,
Les pauvres nids déserts, les nids qu'on abandonne,

Lara

© Lord Byron

Proud Otho on the instant, reddening, threw
His glove on earth, and forth his sabre flew.
"The last alternative befits me best,
And thus I answer for mine absent guest."

Silent Love. (From The German)

Who love would seek,

Let him love evermore

For Music

© Lord Byron

THERE be none of Beauty's daughters
With a magic like thee;
And like music on the waters
Is thy sweet voice to me:

At the Bridal Shop by Joseph O. Legaspi : American Life in Poetry #210 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureat

© Ted Kooser

My father was the manager of a store in which chairs were strategically placed for those dutiful souls waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting for shoppers. Such patience is the most exhausting work there is, or so it seems at the time. This poem by Joseph O. Legaspi perfectly captures one of those scenes.

At the Bridal Shop