All Poems
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To Thomas Moore
© Lord Byron
My boat is on the shore,
And my bark is on the sea;
But, before I go, Tom Moore,
Here's a double health to thee!
In Memoriam A. H. H. Obiit: 124.
© Alfred Tennyson
A warmth within the breast would melt
The freezing reason's colder part,
And like a man in wrath the heart
Stood up and answer'd, "I have felt."
On Chillon
© Lord Byron
Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind!
Brightest in dungeons, Liberty, thou art;
For there thy habitation is the heart—
The heart which love of thee alone can bind;
The Snowman on the Moor
© Sylvia Plath
Stalemated their armies stood, with tottering banners:
She flung from a room
Still ringing with bruit of insults and dishonors
There Be None of Beauty's Daughters
© 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:
A Winter Ship
© Sylvia Plath
At this wharf there are no grand landings to speak of.
Red and orange barges list and blister
Shackled to the dock, outmoded, gaudy,
And apparently indestructible.
The sea pulses under a skin of oil.
Oh! Snatched Away In Beauty's Bloom
© Lord Byron
Oh! snatched away in beauty's bloom,
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb;
But on thy turf shall roses rear
Their leaves, the earliest of the year;
And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom:
Hermann And Dorothea - VI. Klio
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Thus the magistrate spoke. The others departed and thanked him,
And the pastor produced a gold piece (the silver his purse held
He some hours before had with genuine kindness expended
When he saw the fugitives passing in sorrowful masses).
Epistle To Augusta
© Lord Byron
My sister! my sweet sister! if a name
Dearer and purer were, it should be thine;
Mountains and seas divide us, but I claim
No tears, but tenderness to answer mine:
To Dylan Thomas
© Eli Siegel
I hope that where you are
(I think so, too)
People, including literary people,
Will see you more as you were;
Churchill's Grave
© Lord Byron
I stood beside the grave of him who blazed
The comet of a season, and I saw
The humblest of all sepulchres, and gazed
With not the less of sorrow and of awe
My Epitaph
© George Gordon Byron
Youth, Nature, and relenting Jove,
To keep my Lamp in strongly strove;
But Romanelli was so stout,
He beat all three, and blew it out.
Stanzas Written On The Road Between Florence And Pisa
© Lord Byron
Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story;
The days of our youth are the days of our glory;
And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty
Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty.
Written After Swimming From Sestos To Abydos
© Lord Byron
If, in the month of dark December,
Leander, who was nightly wont
(What maid will not the tale remember?)
To cross thy stream, broad Hellespont!
Lesson Of Submission
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
BEN YOUSSUF, bound to Mecca, day by day
Toiled bravely o'er the desert's fiery way,
Till its hot sands and flint-sown courses sore
Pressed on the broidered sandals which he wore,
On This Day I Complete My Thirty-Sixth Year
© Lord Byron
'Tis time this heart should be unmoved,
Since others it hath ceased to move:
Yet, though I cannot be beloved,
Still let me love!
Stanzas 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:
A Rocking Hymn
© George Wither
Sweet baby, sleep! what ails my dear,
What ails my darling thus to cry?
Be still, my child, and lend thine ear
To hear me sing thy lullaby.
My pretty lamb, forbear to weep;
Be still, my dear; sweet baby, sleep.
