All Poems
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mera ji hai jab tak teri justaju hai
© Khwaja Mir Dard
Khuda jane kya hoga anjam is ka
main besabar itna hun wo tund khu hai
Sonnet XXX: Those Priests
© Michael Drayton
To the Vestals
Those priests which first the Vestal fire begun,
They Who Prepare my Evening Meal Below
© Henry David Thoreau
They who prepare my evening meal below
Carelessly hit the kettle as they go
With tongs or shovel,
And ringing round and round,
Sic Vita
© Henry David Thoreau
A nosegay which Time clutched from out
Those fair Elysian fields,
With weeds and broken stems, in haste,
Doth make the rabble rout
That waste
The day he yields.
Let such pure hate still underprop
© Henry David Thoreau
Let such pure hate still underprop
Our love, that we may be
Each other's conscience,
And have our sympathy
Mainly from thence.
Painexpands the Time
© Emily Dickinson
Painexpands the Time
Ages coil within
The minute Circumference
Of a single Brain
Low-Anchored Cloud
© Henry David Thoreau
Low-anchored cloud,
Newfoundland air,
Fountain-head and source of rivers,
Dew-cloth, dream-drapery,
Ses Yeux
© Georges Rodenbach
Ses yeux où se blottit comme un rêve frileux,
Ses grands yeux ont séduit mon âme émerveillée,
D'un bleu d'ancien pastel, d'un bleu de fleur mouillée,
Ils semblent regarder de loin, ses grands yeux bleus.
The Inward Morning
© Henry David Thoreau
What is it gilds the trees and clouds,
And paints the heavens so gay,
But yonder fast-abiding light
With its unchanging ray?
To A New-Born Baby Girl
© Grace Hazard Conkling
And did thy sapphire shallop slip
Its moorings suddenly, to dip
Rumors from an Aeolian Harp
© Henry David Thoreau
There love is warm, and youth is young,
And poetry is yet unsung.
For Virtue still adventures there,
And freely breathes her native air.
On Fields O'er Which the Reaper's Hand has Passed
© Henry David Thoreau
On fields o'er which the reaper's hand has pass'd
Lit by the harvest moon and autumn sun,
My thoughts like stubble floating in the wind
And of such fineness as October airs,
Pray to What Earth
© Henry David Thoreau
Pray to what earth does this sweet cold belong,
Which asks no duties and no conscience?
The moon goes up by leaps, her cheerful path
In some far summer stratum of the sky,
Banner Of Men Who Were Free
© Edgar Lee Masters
Flag of the great republic, banner of men who were free!
Carried aloft for freedom in many a bloody gorge;
Torn by the shot of tyrants in battle by land and sea,
The rallying hope of our fathers by Valley Forge.
What's the Railroad to Me
© Henry David Thoreau
What's the railroad to me?
I never go to see
Where it ends.
It fills a few hollows,
Floods
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
In the dark night, from sweet refreshing sleep
I wake to hear outside my window-pane
The uncurbed fury of the wild spring rain,
And weird winds lashing the defiant deep,
I Knew A Man By Sight
© Henry David Thoreau
In a more distant place
I glimpsed his face,
And bowed instinctively;
Starting he bowed to me,
Bowed simultaneously, and passed along.
The Broadstone
© Robinson Jeffers
NEAR FINVOY, COUNTY ANTRIM
We climbed by the old quarries to the wide highland of heath,
I am the autumnal sun
© Henry David Thoreau
Sometimes a mortal feels in himself Nature
-- not his Father but his Mother stirs
within him, and he becomes immortal with her
immortality. From time to time she claims
kindredship with us, and some globule
from her veins steals up into our own.
