All Poems

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The Gnu

© Hilaire Belloc

G stands for Gnu, whose weapon of defence

Are long, sharp, curling horns, and common sense.

Knoxville Tennessee

© Nikki Giovanni

I always like summer
Best
you can eat fresh corn
From daddy's garden

Love's Ordeal

© George MacDonald

In a lovely garden walking
Two lovers went hand in hand;
Two wan, worn figures, talking
They sat in the flowery land.

Faun

© Robert Graves

Here down this very way,
Here only yesterday
King Faun went leaping.
He sang, with careless shout

The Dying Child

© John Clare

He could not die when trees were green,
For he loved the time too well.
His little hands, when flowers were seen,
Were held for the bluebell,
As he was carried o'er the green.

Oh, Think Not I Am Faithful To A Vow

© Edna St. Vincent Millay

Oh, think not I am faithful to a vow!

Faithless am I save to love's self alone.

Unlearning

© Aline Murray Kilmer

WHEN I was young my heart was old,
My heart was rich and very wise:
Now all its wisdom has been told
And all its wealth is fairy gold
And all its joy futilities.

The Spoilsport

© Robert Graves

My familiar ghost again
Comes to see what he can see,
Critic, son of Conscious Brain,
Spying on our privacy.

To an Ungentle Critic

© Robert Graves

The great sun sinks behind the town
Through a red mist of Volnay wine....
But whats the use of setting down
That glorious blaze behind the town?

Then all of Nature's old amazement seemed
Sudden to ask us: "Is this also Man?
This plunging, volant, land-amphibian
What Plato mused and Paracelsus dreamed?
Reply!" And piercing us with ancient scan,
The shrill, primeval hawk gazed down -- and screamed.

Song IX. - The fatal hours are wondrous near

© William Shenstone

The fatal hours are wondrous near,
That from these fountains bear my dear;
A little space is given; in vain
She robs my sight, and shuns the plain.

Finland

© Robert Graves

Feet and faces tingle
In that frore land:
Legs wobble and go wingle,
You scarce can stand.

Elegy III. Anno Aet. 17. On The Death Of The Bishop Of Winchester (Translated From Milton)

© William Cowper

Silent I sat, dejected, and alone,

Making in thought the public woes my own,

The Troll's Nosegay

A simple nosegay! Was that much to ask?
(Winter still nagged, with scarce a bud yet showing.)
He loved her ill, if he resigned the task.
'Somewhere,' she cried, 'there must be blossom blowing.'

Letter To A Friend About Girls

After comparing lives with you for years

I see how Ive been losing: all the while

The Poet in the Nursery

The youngest poet down the shelves was fumbling
In a dim library, just behind the chair
From which the ancient poet was mum-mumbling
A song about some Lovers at a Fair,
Pulling his long white beard and gently grumbling
That rhymes were beastly things and never there.