All Poems

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Sonnet XII: Indeed This Very Love

© Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Indeed this very love which is my boast,

And which, when rising up from breast to brow,

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To A Lady

© Lord Byron

O! had my Fate been join'd with thine,
As once this pledge appear'd a token,
These follies had not, then, been mine,
For, then, my peace had not been broken.

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The Window On The Hill

© Madison Julius Cawein

Among the fields the camomile
Seems blown mist in the lightning's glare:
Cool, rainy odors drench the air;
Night speaks above; the angry smile
Of storm within her stare.

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Euthanasia

© Lord Byron

When Time, or soon or late, shall bring
The dreamless sleep that lulls the dead,
Oblivion! may thy languid wing
Wave gently o'er my dying bed!

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The Tear

© Lord Byron

When Friendship or Love
Our sympathies move;
When Truth, in a glance, should appear,
The lips may beguile,
With a dimple or smile,
But the test of affection's a Tear:

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Lines Written Beneath An Elm In The Churchyard Of Harrow

© Lord Byron

Spot of my youth! whose hoary branches sigh,
Swept by the breeze that fans thy cloudless sky;
Where now alone I muse, who oft have trod,
With those I loved, thy soft and verdant sod;

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So You Want To Be A Writer

© Charles Bukowski

if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you're not ready.

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Lines, On Hearing That Lady Byron Was Ill

© Lord Byron

And thou wert sad—yet I was not with thee!
And thou wert sick, and yet I was not near;
Methought that joy and health alone could be
Where I was not—and pain and sorrow here.

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Magnificat

© Edith Nesbit

THIS is Christ's birthday: long ago
  He lay upon His Mother's knee,
Who kissed and blessed Him soft and low--
  God's gift to her, as you to me.

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Stanzas To The Po

© Lord Byron

River, that rollest by the ancient walls,
Where dwells the lady of my love, when she
Walks by thy brink, and there perchance recalls
A faint and fleeting memory of me;

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The Owl Describing Her Young Ones

© Anne Kingsmill Finch

Why was that baleful Creature made,
Which seeks our Quiet to invade,
And screams ill Omens through the Shade?

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To Thyrza: And Thou Art Dead

© Lord Byron

And thou art dead, as young and fair
As aught of mortal birth;
And form so soft and charm so rare
Too soon returned to Earth!

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Song -- County Guy

© Sir Walter Scott

Ah! County Guy, the hour is nigh,  

  The sun has left the lea,  

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Stanzas To Augusta

© Lord Byron

When all around grew drear and dark,
And reason half withheld her ray—
And hope but shed a dying spark
Which more misled my lonely way;

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Ultima Thule: The Poet And His Songs

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

As the birds come in the Spring,
  We know not from where;
As the stars come at evening
  From depths of the air;

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Stanzas For Music: There's Not A Joy The World Can Give

© Lord Byron

There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away
When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull decay;
'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast,
But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past.

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The Shrouding Of The Duchess Of Malfi

© John Webster

Hark! Now everything is still,
The screech-owl and the whistler shrill,
Call upon our dame aloud,
And bid her quickly don her shroud!

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Prometheus

© Lord Byron

Titan! to whose immortal eyes
The sufferings of mortality,
Seen in their sad reality,
Were not as things that gods despise;

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Lines Inscribed Upon A Cup Formed From A Skull

© Lord Byron

Start not—nor deem my spirit fled:
In me behold the only skull
From which, unlike a living head,
Whatever flows is never dull.