All Poems
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Gipsies
© John Clare
The snow falls deep; the forest lies alone;
The boy goes hasty for his load of brakes,
The Little Orphan
© Edgar Albert Guest
Then through the hot and sultry day he plays at "make-pretend,"
The alley is a sandy beach where all the rich folks send
Their little boys and girls to play, a barrel is his boat,
But, oh, the air is tifling and the dust fills up his throat;
And though he tries so very hard to play, somehow it seems
He never gets such wondrous joys as angels bring in dreams.
The Bachelor's Soliloquy
© Edgar Albert Guest
To wed, or not to wed; that is the question;Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to sufferThe bills and house rent of a wedded fortune,Or to say "nit" when she proposes,And by declining cut her
Lines Written On Hearing The News Of The Death Of Napoleon
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
What! alive and so bold, O Earth?
Art thou not overbold?
What! leapest thou forth as of old
In the light of thy morning mirth,
Thanksgiving
© Edgar Albert Guest
Gettin' together to smile an' rejoice,
An' eatin' an' laughin' with folks of your choice;
An' kissin' the girls an' declarin' that they
Are growin' more beautiful day after day;
See it Through
© Edgar Albert Guest
When you're up against a trouble,
Meet it squarely, face to face;
Lift your chin and set your shoulders,
Plant your feet and take a brace.
The Worldling
© John Newton
My barns are full, my stores increase,
And now, for many years,
Soul, eat and drink, and take thine ease,
Secure from wants and fears.
On Quitting
© Edgar Albert Guest
How much grit do you think you've got?Can you quit a thing that you like a lot?You may talk of pluck; it's an easy word,And where'er you go it is often heard;But can you tell to a jot or guessJust how much courage you now possess?
You may stand to trouble and keep your grin,But have you tackled self-discipline?Have you ever issued commands to youTo quit the things that you like to do,And then, when tempted and sorely swayed,Those rigid orders have you obeyed?
Don't boast of your grit till you've tried it out,Nor prate to men of your courage stout,For it's easy enough to retain a grinIn the face of a fight there's a chance to win,But the sort of grit that is good to ownIs the stuff you need when you're all alone
Hard Luck
© Edgar Albert Guest
Ain't no use as I can see
In sittin' underneath a tree
An' growlin' that your luck is bad,
An' that your life is extry sad;
The Pleiades At Midnight
© Johannes Carsten Hauch
We are the nightly weavers
who gather the invisible threads
from the Milky Way's outmost ring
where the end of the loom stands.
Father
© Edgar Albert Guest
My father knows the proper way
The nation should be run;
He tells us children every day
Just what should now be done.
The Song of the Barren Orange Tree
© Federico Garcia Lorca
Woodcutter.
Cut my shadow from me.
Free me from the torment
of being without fruit.
A Toast to the Men
© Edgar Albert Guest
Here's to the men! Since Adam's time
They've always been the same;
Whenever anything goes wrong,
The woman is to blame.
Clouds
© Mikhail Lermontov
Clouds in the skies above, heavenly wanderers,
Long strings of snowy pearls stretched over azure plains!
Exiles like I, you rush farther and farther on,
Leaving my dear North, go distances measureless.
Skyline Tommy
© William Henry Ogilvie
He loves all games that good men play-
And plays them clean and straight-
Brockley Coomb
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Lines composed while climbing the left ascent of Brockley Coomb, May 1795With many a pause and oft reverted eye
I climb the Coomb's ascent: sweet songsters near
Warble in shade their wild-wood melody:
Far off the unvarying Cuckoo soothes my ear.
Written At Camberwell, Near London, In The Study Of Mr. Wainwright
© Mary Barber
``Mortal, you're here allow'd to roam.
``And bid to think yourself at home:
``O'er the Domesticks then preside;
``Let that content your Female Pride;
``In vain you call on me To--day;
``Here Wainwright only I obey.
