All Poems
/ page 2482 of 3210 /
The Happiest Land. (From The German)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
There sat one day in quiet,
By an alehouse on the Rhine,
Four hale and hearty fellows,
And drank the precious wine.
The Punisher
© David Herbert Lawrence
I have fetched the tears up out of the little wells,
Scooped them up with small, iron words,
Dripping over the runnels.
A Garden In The Desert
© Harriet Monroe
So light and soft the days fall
Like petals one by one
Down from yon tree whose flowers all
Must vanish in the sun.
Scent of Irises
© David Herbert Lawrence
A faint, sickening scent of irises
Persists all morning. Here in a jar on the table
A fine proud spike of purple irises
Rising above the class-room litter, makes me unable
To see the classs lifted and bended faces
Save in a broken pattern, amid purple and gold and sable.
tujhi ko jo yan jalwa farma na dekha
© Khwaja Mir Dard
mera guncha-e-dil hai woh dil-girifta
k jis ko kaso ne kabhi wa na dekha
Gloire de Dijon
© David Herbert Lawrence
When she rises in the morning
I linger to watch her;
She spreads the bath-cloth underneath the window
And the sunbeams catch her
Ballad of Another Ophelia
© David Herbert Lawrence
Oh the green glimmer of apples in the orchard,
Lamps in a wash of rain!
Oh the wet walk of my brown hen through the stackyard,
Oh tears on the window pane!
Life Rounded With Sleep
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
The babe is at peace within the womb;
The corpse is at rest within the tomb:
We begin in what we end.
Restlessness
© David Herbert Lawrence
At the open door of the room I stand and look at the night,
Hold my hand to catch the raindrops, that slant into sight,
Arriving grey from the darkness above suddenly into the light of the room.
I will escape from the hollow room, the box of light,
And be out in the bewildering darkness, which is always fecund, which might
Mate my hungry soul with a germ of its womb.
The Artist
© William Henry Ogilvie
He stands at no easel, he mixes no paint,
He colours no canvas to gladden the eye,
Dissolute
© David Herbert Lawrence
Many years have I still to burn, detained
Like a candle flame on this body; but I enshine
A darkness within me, a presence which sleeps contained
In my flame of living, her soul enfolded in mine.
Song. Cold, Cold Is The Blast When December Is Howling
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Cold, cold is the blast when December is howling,
Cold are the damps on a dying man's brow,--
Stern are the seas when the wild waves are rolling,
And sad is the grave where a loved one lies low;
The Prophet
© David Herbert Lawrence
Ah, my darling, when over the purple horizon shall loom
The shrouded mother of a new idea, men hide their faces,
Cry out and fend her off, as she seeks her procreant groom,
Wounding themselves against her, denying her fecund embraces.
Rubaiyat 07
© Shams al-Din Hafiz
A new challenge everyday
You keep away and delay;
When I act to close the gap
Fate says there is a bigger play.
The Revolutionary
© David Herbert Lawrence
Look at them standing there in authority
The pale-faces,
As if it could have any effect any more.
Kooroora
© Henry Kendall
The gums in the gully stand gloomy and stark,
A torrent beneath them is leaping,
Listening
© David Herbert Lawrence
I listen to the stillness of you,
My dear, among it all;
I feel your silence touch my words as I talk,
And take them in thrall.
I look at the swaling sunset
© David Herbert Lawrence
I look at the swaling sunset
And wish I could go also
Through the red doors beyond the black-purple bar.
They Loved One Another
© Caroline Norton
THEY loved one another! young Edward and his wife,
And in their cottage-home they dwelt, apart from sin and strife.
The Wild Common
© David Herbert Lawrence
The quick sparks on the gorse bushes are leaping,
Little jets of sunlight-texture imitating flame;
Above them, exultant, the peewits are sweeping:
They are lords of the desolate wastes of sadness their screamings proclaim.
