All Poems
/ page 2243 of 3210 /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,
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.
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.
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!
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:
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;
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.
Lines, On Hearing That Lady Byron Was Ill
© Lord Byron
And thou wert sadyet 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 notand pain and sorrow here.
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.
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;
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?
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!
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;
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;
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.
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!
Prometheus
© Lord Byron
Titan! to whose immortal eyes
The sufferings of mortality,
Seen in their sad reality,
Were not as things that gods despise;
Lines Inscribed Upon A Cup Formed From A Skull
© Lord Byron
Start notnor deem my spirit fled:
In me behold the only skull
From which, unlike a living head,
Whatever flows is never dull.