All Poems
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Water
© Robert Lowell
It was a Maine lobster town
each morning boatloads of hands
pushed off for granite
quarries on the islands,
Written Shortly After The Marriage Of Miss Chaworth
© George Gordon Byron
Hills of Annesley, bleak and barren,
Where my thoughtless childhood stray'd,
How the northern tempests, warring,
Howl above thy tufted shade!
What I have learned
© David Holbrook
As I walked through life I've realized
Not everyone truly lives, but in the end we all must die
Take, O Take Those Lips Away
© William Shakespeare
Take, O take those lips away,
That so sweetly were forsworn;
Enchantment
© Madison Julius Cawein
The deep seclusion of this forest path, -
O'er which the green boughs weave a canopy;
The Prophecy Of St. Oran: Part I
© Mathilde Blind
"Earth, earth on the mouth of Oran, that he may blab no more." Gaelic Proverb.
From Boethius: De Consolatione Philosophiae; Book II. Metre 4.
© Samuel Johnson
Wouldst thou to some steadfast seat,
Out of Fortune's power retreat?
Winter in the Country
© Claude McKay
Sweet life! how lovely to be here
And feel the soft sea-laden breeze
Strike my flushed face, the spruce's fair
Free limbs to see, the lesser trees'
Limerick: There Was an Old Lady Whose Folly
© Edward Lear
There was an Old Lady whose folly
Induced her to sit in a holly:
Whereupon by a thorn
Her dress being torn,
She quickly became melancholy.
Wild May
© Claude McKay
Aleta mentions in her tender letters,
Among a chain of quaint and touching things,
That you are feeble, weighted down with fetters,
And given to strange deeds and mutterings.
When Dawn Comes to the City
© Claude McKay
The tired cars go grumbling by,
The moaning, groaning cars,
And the old milk carts go rumbling by
Under the same dull stars.
False Poets And True (To Wordsworth)
© Thomas Hood
Look how the lark soars upward and is gone,
Turning a spirit as he nears the sky!
His voice is heard, but body there is none
To fix the vague excursions of the eye.
Tormented
© Claude McKay
I will not reason, wrestle here with you,
Though you pursue and worry me about;
As well put forth my swarthy arm to stop
The wild wind howling, darkly mad without.
The Deserted House
© Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
There's no smoke in the chimney,
And the rain beats on the floor;
There's no glass in the window,
There's no wood in the door;
The heather grows behind the house,
And the sand lies before.
To Winter
© Claude McKay
Stay, season of calm love and soulful snows!
There is a subtle sweetness in the sun,
The ripples on the stream's breast gaily run,
The wind more boisterously by me blows,
Tomahawking Fred
© Anonymous
Now some shearing I have done, and some prizes I have won,
Through my knuckling down so close on the skin,
But I'd rather tomahawk every day than shear a flock,
For that's the only way I make some tin.
To One Coming North
© Claude McKay
At first you'll joy to see the playful snow,
Like white moths trembling on the tropic air,
Or waters of the hills that softly flow
Gracefully falling down a shining stair.
