All Poems

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Entangled

© Mathilde Blind

I STOOD as one enchanted,
All in the forest deep:
As one that wond'ring wanders,
Dream-bound within his sleep.

When to the dreary greenwood gloam
Winfreda's husband strode that day,
The fair Winfreda bode at home
To toil the weary time away;
"While thou art gone to hunt," said she,
"I'll brew a goodly sop for thee."

Warning

© Margaret Widdemer

AS long as you never marry me, and I never marry you,
There's nothing on earth that we cannot say and nothing we cannot do
The flames lift up from our blowing hair, the leaves flash under our feet
When once in a year or a score of years our hands and our laughters meet!

Two valentines

© Eugene Field

There were three cavaliers, all handsome and true,
On Valentine's day came a maiden to woo,
And quoth to your mother: "Good-morrow, my dear,
We came with some songs for your daughter to hear!"

The Negro Speaks Of Rivers

© Langston Hughes

I've known rivers:
I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the
flow of human blood in human veins.

Two idylls from bion the smyrnean

© Eugene Field

Once a fowler, young and artless,
To the quiet greenwood came;
Full of skill was he and heartless
In pursuit of feathered game.
And betimes he chanced to see
Eros perching in a tree.

Dedication

© Rudyard Kipling

The Cities are full of pride,
Challenging each to each -
This from her mountain-side,
That from her burthened beach.

Twin idols

© Eugene Field

There are two phrases, you must know,
So potent (yet so small)
That wheresoe'er a man may go
He needs none else at all;

Chloris

© Paul Hamilton Hayne

WHAT time the rosy-flushing West
Sleeps soft on copse and dingle,
Wherein the sunset shadows rest,
Or richly float and mingle;

To Robin Goodfellow

© Eugene Field

I see you, Maister Bawsy-brown,
Through yonder lattice creepin';
You come for cream and to gar me dream,
But you dinna find me sleepin'.

The Avon

© Mathilde Blind

Green Avon's haunted! Look, from yonder bank
The willow leans, that hath not ceased to weep,
Whence, hanging garlands, fair Ophelia sank;
Since Jacques moped here the trees have had a tongue;
And all these streams and whispering willows keep
The moan of Desdemona's dying song.

To emma abbott

© Eugene Field

There--let thy hands be folded
Awhile in sleep's repose;
The patient hands that wearied not,
But earnestly and nobly wrought

The Pilgrim

© John Bunyan

Who would true Valour see

Let him come hither;

To cinna

© Eugene Field

Cinna, the great Venusian told
In songs that will not die
How in Augustan days of old
Your love did glorify

To a Usurper

© Eugene Field

Aha! a traitor in the camp,
A rebel strangely bold,--
A lisping, laughing, toddling scamp,
Not more than four years old!

The White Lady

I cannot rest, I cannot rest
In straight and shiny wood,
My woven hands upon my breast-
The dead are all so good!

To a soubrette

© Eugene Field

'Tis years, soubrette, since last we met;
And yet--ah, yet, how swift and tender
My thoughts go back in time's dull track
To you, sweet pink of female gender!