All Poems
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A Poetical Epistle To Lady Austen
© William Cowper
Dear Anna, -- Between friend and friend,
Prose answers every common end;
Here will I take my rest
© Shams al-Din Hafiz
My lady, that did change this house of mine
Into a heaven when that she dwelt therein,
From head to foot an angel's grace divine
Enwrapped her; pure she was, spotless of sin;
To Alexander Pope, Esq.
© Mary Barber
Accept, illustrious Shade! these artless Lays;
My Soul this Homage, to thy Virtue pays:
Led by that sacred Light, a Stranger--Muse
Attempts those Paths, which abler Feet refuse;
In distant Climes thy Virtue she admires,
In distant Climes thy Worth her Strain inspires.
God of Love
© Augustus Montague Toplady
God of love, whose truth and grace
Reach unbounded as the skies,
Hear thy creature's feeble praise,
Let my ev'ning sacrifice
Mount as incense to thy throne,
On the merits of thy Son.
Hymns to the Night : 1
© Novalis
Before all the wondrous shows of the widespread space around him, what living, sentient thing loves not the all-joyous light - with its colors, its rays and undulations, its gentle omnipresence in the form of the wakening Day? The giant-world of the unresting constellations inhales it as the innermost soul of life, and floats dancing in its blue flood - the sparkling, ever-tranquil stone, the thoughtful, imbibing plant, and the wild, burning multiform beast inhales it - but more than all, the lordly stranger with the sense-filled eyes, the swaying walk, and the sweetly closed, melodious lips. Like a king over earthly nature, it rouses every force to countless transformations, binds and unbinds innumerable alliances, hangs its heavenly form around every earthly substance. - Its presence alone reveals the marvelous splendor of the kingdoms of the world.
Aside I turn to the holy, unspeakable, mysterious Night. Afar lies the world - sunk in a deep grave - waste and lonely is its place. In the chords of the bosom blows a deep sadness. I am ready to sink away in drops of dew, and mingle with the ashes. - The distances of memory, the wishes of youth, the dreams of childhood, the brief joys and vain hopes of a whole long life, arise in gray garments, like an evening vapor after the sunset. In other regions the light has pitched its joyous tents. What if it should never return to its children, who wait for it with the faith of innocence?
The Cake That Drifts In Water
© Ho Xuan Huong
My body is both white and round.
In water I may sink or swim.
The hand the kneads me may be rough,
But I still shall keep my true-red heart.
Songs Without Sense: [For the Parlor and Piano]
© Francis Bret Harte
Im a gay tra, la, la,
With my fal, lal, la, la,
And my bright
And my light
Tra, la, le. [Repeat.]
Two-An'-Six
© Claude McKay
Merry voices chatterin',
Nimble feet dem patterin',
Big an' little, faces gay,
Happy day dis market day.
On The Lighthouse At Antibes
© Mathilde Blind
The evening knows thee ere the evening star;
Or sees that flame sole Regent of the bight,
When storm, hoarse rumoured by the hills afar,
Makes mariners steer landward by thy light,
Which shows through shock of hostile nature's war
How man keeps watch o'er man through deadliest night.
Epitaph
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
These are two friends whose lives were undivided;
So let their memory be, now they have glided
Under the grave; let not their bones be parted,
For their two hearts in life were single-hearted.
"I dreamt last night"
© Lesbia Harford
I dreamt last night
That spring had come.
Across green fields I saw a blur
Of crimson-blossomed plum.
Holy Cussing by Robert Morgan: American Life in Poetry #47 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006
© Ted Kooser
The poet, novelist and biographer, Robert Morgan, who was raised in North Carolina, has written many intriguing poems that teach his readers about southern folklore. Here's just one example.
Holy Cussing
Ce que dit la bouche d'ombre (I)
© Victor Marie Hugo
(extraits)
... Les fleurs souffrent sous le ciseau,
Et se ferment ainsi que des paupières closes ;
Toutes les femmes sont teintes du sang des roses ;
The Colossus
© Sylvia Plath
I shall never get you put together entirely,
Pieced, glued, and properly jointed.
Mule-bray, pig-grunt and bawdy cackles
Proceed from your great lips.
It's worse than a barnyard.
Kore
© Frederic Manning
Yea, she hath passed hereby, and blessed the sheaves,
And the great garths, and stacks, and quiet farms,
And all the tawny, and the crimson leaves.
Yea, she hath passed with poppies in her arms,
Under the star of dusk, through stealing mist,
And blessed the earth, and gone, while no man wist.
Tempe
© Richard Monckton Milnes
We are in Tempe, Peneus glides below,--
That is Olympus,--we are wondering
Where, in old history, Xerxes the great King,
Wondered. How strangely pleasant this to know!
The Ballad Of The New Arrival
© Edgar Albert Guest
Prince, at your pleasures I sneeze,
You to riches and glory may bow,
But my joy is greater than these,
There's another to welcome me now.
