All Poems
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The Solitary Lyre
© George Darley
Wherefore, unlaurell'd Boy,
Whom the contemptuous Muse will not inspire,
With a sad kind of joy
Still sing'st thou to thy solitary lyre?
"A lady and I were walking"
© Lesbia Harford
A lady and I were walking
Where waters flow;
A lady and I were talking
Softly and slow.
The Domineering Eagle And The Inventive Bratling
© Guy Wetmore Carryl
Oer a small suburban borough
Once an eagle used to fly,
The Angel In The House. Book II. Canto V.
© Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore
III The Heart's Prophecies
Be not amazed at life; 'tis still
The mode of God with His elect
Their hopes exactly to fulfil,
In times and ways they least expect.
Sorrows Importunity
© Alfred Austin
When Sorrow first came wailing to my door,
April rehearsed the madrigal of May;
And, as I ne'er had seen her face before,
I kept on singing, and she went her way.
The London Lackpenny
© John Lydgate
To London once my steps I bent,
Where truth in no wise should be faint;
The Orphan's Song
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
I had a little bird,
I took it from the nest;
I prest it, and blest it,
And nurst it in my breast.
Give Your Wish Light
© Robinson Jeffers
By day and night dream about happy death,
Poor dog give your heart room, drag at the chain,
If I Had Youth
© Edgar Albert Guest
If I had youth I'd bid the world to try me;
I'd answer every challenge to my will.
Epigram
© Charles Lamb
Ye Politicians, tell me, pray,
Why thus with woe and care rent?
This is the worst that you can say,
Some wind has blown the wig away,
And left the hair apparent.
The Mussulman's Dream Of The Vizier And Dervis
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
Where is that World, to which the Fancy flies,
When Sleep excludes the Present from our Eyes;
The Dykes
© Rudyard Kipling
We have no heart for the fishing, we have no hand for the oar
All that our fathers taught us of old pleases us now no more;
All that our own hearts bid us believe we doubt where we do not deny
There is no proof in the bread we eat or rest in the toil we ply.
Sunrise
© Frederick George Scott
O rising Sun, so fair and gay,
What are you bringing me, I pray,
Of sorrow or of joy to-day?
A Farmhouse Dirge
© Alfred Austin
Will you walk with me to the brow of the hill, to visit the farmer's wife,
Whose daughter lies in the churchyard now, eased of the ache of life?
Half a mile by the winding lane, another half to the top:
There you may lean o'er the gate and rest; she will want me awhile to stop,
Stop and talk of her girl that is gone and no more will wake or weep,
Or to listen rather, for sorrow loves to babble its pain to sleep.
Late Came the God
© Rudyard Kipling
Late came the God, having sent his forerunners who were
not regarded-
John Heki
© Charles Harpur
Should Switzerlands rude rocks be held the throne
Of freedom (sanctioned there by God to quell
Indiscretion
© Edith Nesbit
RED tulip-buds last night caressed
The sacred ivory of her breast.
She met me, eager to divine
What gold-heart bud of hope was mine.
Milk For The Cat
© Harold Monro
When the tea is brought at five o'clock,
And all the neat curtains are drawn with care,
The little black cat with bright green eyes
Is suddenly purring there.
