All Poems
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Written In March
© William Wordsworth
The cock is crowing,
The stream is flowing,
The small birds twitter,
The lake doth glitter
Resolution And Independence
© William Wordsworth
I There was a roaring in the wind all night;
The rain came heavily and fell in floods;
But now the sun is rising calm and bright;
The birds are singing in the distant woods;
Pleasant Thought For The Morning
© Arthur Rimbaud
At four o'clock on a summer morning,
The Sleep of love still lasts.
Under the spinneys the dawn disperses scents
Of the festive night.
To Roosevelt {1}
© Rubén Dario
You are strong, proud model of your race;
you are cultured and able; you oppose Tolstoy.
You are an Alexander-Nebuchadnezzar,
breaking horses and murdering tigers.
(You are a Professor of Energy,
as current lunatics say).
Lines Written In Early Spring
© William Wordsworth
I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.
Composed Upon Westminster Bridge
© William Wordsworth
Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth like a garment wear
The Song Of The Nine Singers
© Giordano Bruno
O cliffs and rocks! O thorny woods! O shore!
O hills and dales! O valleys, rivers, seas!
How do your new-discovered beauties please?
O Nymph, 'tis yours the guerdon rare,
If now the open skies shine fair;
O happy wanderings, well spent and o'er!
I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud
© William Wordsworth
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Cabbage Key
© Shawn McAllister
Once Hemingway
sat across this bay
and touched the endless sea
The gulf-stretched sun
A Son
© Rudyard Kipling
My son was killed while laughing at some jest, I would
I knew
What it was and it might serve me in a time when jests
are few.
The Black Mammy
© James Weldon Johnson
O whitened head entwined in turban gay,
O kind black face, O crude, but tender hand,
O foster-mother in whose arms there lay
The race whose sons are masters of the land!
Dream Song 120: Foes I sniff, when I have less to shout
© John Berryman
Foes I sniff, when I have less to shout
or murmur. Pals alone enormous sounds
downward & up bring real.
Loss, deaths, terror. Over & out,
beloved: thanks for cabbage on my wounds:
I'll feed you how I feel:â
Paradise Lost : Book V.
© John Milton
Now Morn, her rosy steps in the eastern clime
Advancing, sowed the earth with orient pearl,
Epilogue:XXI 'Tristram of Lyonesse'
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
OUR MOTHER, which wast twice, as history saith,
Found first among the nations: once, when she
Dream Song 82: Op. posth. no. 5
© John Berryman
Maskt as honours, insult like behaving
missiles homes. I bow, & grunt 'Thank you.
I'm glad you could come
so late.' All loves are gratified. I'm having
to screw a little thing I have to screw.
Good nature is over.
The Two Peacocks of Bedfont
© Thomas Hood
I
Alas! That breathing Vanity should go
Where Pride is buried,like its very ghost,
Uprisen from the naked bones below,
Dream Song 83: Op. posth. no. 6
© John Berryman
I recall a boil, whereupon as I had to sit,
just where, and when I had to, for deadlines.
O I could learn to type standing,
but isn't it slim to be slumped off from that,
problems undignified, fiery dig salt mines?â
Content on one's black flat:
The Mysterious Visitor
© Vasily Andreyevich Zhukovsky
Spirit, lovely guest, who are you?
Whence have you flown down to us?
Dream Song 96: Under the table, no. That last was stunning
© John Berryman
Under the table, no. That last was stunning,
that flagon had breasts. Some men grow down cursed.
Why drink so, two days running?
two months, O seasons, years, two decades running?
I answer (smiles) my question on the cuff:
Man, I been thirsty.
