All Poems
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Axis
© Octavio Paz
Through the conduits of blood
my body in your body
spring of night
my tongue of sun in your forest
Fairies
© Francis Ledwidge
Maiden-poet, come with me
To the heaped up cairn of Maeve,
And there we'll dance a fairy dance
Upon a fairy's grave.
At The Bomb Testing Site
© William Stafford
At noon in the desert a panting lizard
waited for history, its elbows tense,
watching the curve of a particular road
as if something might happen.
Her Face And Brow
© James Whitcomb Riley
Ah, help me! but her face and brow
Are lovelier than lilies are
At Dover
© William Lisle Bowles
Thou, whose stern spirit loves the storm,
That, borne on Terror's desolating wings,
Husband And Wife
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
The world had chafed his spirit proud
By its wearing, crushing strife,
The censure of the thoughtless crowd
Had touched a blameless life;
Like the dove of old, from the waters foam,
He wearily turned to the ark of home.
The Art of Love: Book Two
© Ovid
…Short partings do best, though: time wears out affections,
The absent love fades, a new one takes its place.
'To _____'
© Robert Nichols
Asleep within the deadest hour of night
And turning with the earth, I was aware
How suddenly the eastern curve was bright,
As when the sun arises from his lair.
But not the sun arose: It was thy hair
Shaken up heaven in tossing leagues of light.
Confused and Distraught
© Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
Again I am raging,
I am in such a state by your soul that every
bond you bind, I break, by your soul.
I am like heaven, like the moon, like a candle by your glow;
I am all reason, all love, all soul, by your soul.
Anelida and Arcite
© Geoffrey Chaucer
Iamque domos patrias Cithice post aspera gentis
Prelia laurigero subeunte Thesea curru
Letifici plausus missusque ad sidera vulgi
Ballad Of The Old Cypress
© Du Fu
In front of K'ung-ming Shrine
stands an old cypress,
With branches like green bronze
and roots like granite;
The Gaudy Flower
© Ann Taylor
WHY does my Anna toss her head,
And look so scornfully around,
As if she scarcely deign'd to tread
Upon the daisy-dappled ground?
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet XXXI
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Yes, Italy is wise, a cultured prude,
Stored with all maxims of a statelier age;
These are her lessons for our northern blood,
With its dark Saxon madness and Norse rage.
Ironic: LL.D.
© William Stanley Braithwaite
There are no hollows any more
Between the mountains; the prairie floor
Is like a curtain with the drape
Of the winds' invisible shape;
And nowhere seen and nowhere heard
The sea's quiet as a sleeping bird.
I wouldn't want to die (Je voudrais pas crever)
© Boris Vian
Before having known
The black mexican dogs
American Poets: Longfellow
© James McIntyre
Like fruit that's large and ripe and mellow,
Sweet and luscious is Longfellow,
