All Poems
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Jericho; or, The Waters Healed
© John Newton
Though Jericho pleasantly stood,
And looked like a promising soil;
Street in Agrigentum
© Salvatore Quasimodo
There is still the wind that I remember
firing the manes of horses, racing,
slanting, across the plains,
the wind that stains and scours the sandstone,
The Hunter
© William Carlos Williams
And you may be sure
not one leaf will lift itself
from the ground
and become fast to a twig again.
Enemy of Death
© Salvatore Quasimodo
(For Rossana Sironi) You should not have
ripped out your image
taken from us, from the world,
a portion of beauty.
The Holidays
© Ann Taylor
"AH! don't you remember, 'tis almost December,
And soon will the holidays come;
Oh, 'twill be so funny, I've plenty of money,
I'll buy me a sword and a drum. "
Poetry
© Don Paterson
In the same way that the mindless diamond keeps
one spark of the planet's early fires
trapped forever in its net of ice,
it's not love's later heat that poetry holds,
The Dead Child And The Mocking-Bird
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
ONCE in a land of balm and flowers,
Of rich fruit-laden trees,
Where the wild wreaths from jasmine bowers
Trail o'er Floridian seas;
Olney Hymn 58: True And False Comforts
© William Cowper
O God, whose favorable eye,
The sin-sick soul revives,
Holy and heavenly is the joy
Thy shining presence gives.
Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: XLV
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
I followed dumb and shrinking like a thief
Close in her shadow from the women's guess,
Yet ruthlessly betrayed for my cheeks' grief
From head to foot in the tall pier--glasses.
The Immortals
© Isaac Rosenberg
I killed them, but they would not die.
Yea! all the day and all the night
For them I could not rest or sleep,
Nor guard from them nor hide in flight.
Our Men
© William Watson
Our men, they are our stronghold,
Our bastioned wall unscaled,
Who, against Hate and Wrong, hold
This Realm that never quailed;
On Receiving News of the War
© Isaac Rosenberg
Snow is a strange white word.
No ice or frost
Has asked of bud or bird
For Winter's cost.
Louse Hunting
© Isaac Rosenberg
Nudes -- stark and glistening,
Yelling in lurid glee. Grinning faces
And raging limbs
Whirl over the floor one fire.
These Are The Clouds
© William Butler Yeats
THESE are the clouds about the fallen sun,
The majesty that shuts his burning eye:
In the Trenches
© Isaac Rosenberg
I snatched two poppies
From the parapets ledge,
Two bright red poppies
That winked on the ledge.
Martyrs Memorial
© Louise Imogen Guiney
SUCH natural debts of love our Oxford knows,
So many ancient dues undesecrate,
Returning, We Hear the Larks
© Isaac Rosenberg
Sombre the night is.
And though we have our lives, we know
What sinister threat lies there.
Sonnet III "Life Ever Seems as from Its Present Site"
© Henry Timrod
Life ever seems as from its present site
It aimed to lure us. Mountains of the past
