All Poems
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Parting: 1940
© John Frederick Nims
Not knowing in what season this again
Not knowing when again the arms outyearning
Nor the flung smile in eyes not knowing when
Fireflies
© Bliss William Carman
THE fireflies across the dusk
Are flashing signals through the gloom
Courageous messengers of light
That dare immensities of doom.
The Frailty And Hurtfulness Of Beauty
© Henry Howard
Brittle beauty, that nature made so frail,
Whereof the gift is small, and short the season;
Meeting In Winter
© William Morris
Winter in the world it is,
Round about the unhoped kiss
Whose dream I long have sorrowed oer;
Round about the longing sore,
That the touch of thee shall turn
Into joy too deep to burn.
The Shaw Memorial
© Peter McArthur
And so methinks heroic deeds will show,
Graved on the tablets of Eternity
Blurred by Oblivion, but instinct with power
Till God's rewarding light shall strongly glow
And the benign, all-seeing eye shall see
The unclouded beauty of their amplest hour.
God; Not Gift
© George MacDonald
Gray clouds my heaven have covered o'er;
My sea ebbs fast, no more to flow;
Ghastly and dry, my desert shore
Parched, bare, unsightly things doth show.
Words Heard, By Accident, Over The Phone
© Sylvia Plath
O mud, mud, how fluid! --
Thick as foreign coffee, and with a sluggy pulse.
Speak, speak! Who is it?
It is the bowel-pulse, lover of digestibles.
It is he who has achieved these syllables.
Sonnet To The Curlew
© Helen Maria Williams
SOOTH'D by the murmurs on the sea-beat shore,
His dun-grey plumage floating to the gale,
The Little Worn Out Pony
© Anonymous
There's a little worn-out pony this side of Hogan's shack
With a snip upon his nuzzle and a mark upon his back;
Just a common little pony is what most people say,
But then of course they've never heard what happened in his day:
I was droving on the Leichhardt with a mob of pikers wild,
When this tibby little pony belonged to Hogan's child.
Air de la princesse d'Orange
© Victor Marie Hugo
Viens, ô toi que j'adore,
Ton pas est plus joyeux
Que le vent des cieux ;
Viens, les yeux de l'aurore
Sont divins, mais tes yeux
Me regardent mieux.
The Water Ouzel
© Harriet Monroe
Little brown surf-bather of the mountains!
Spirit of foam, lover of cataracts, shaking your wings in falling waters!
Rokeby: Canto V.
© Sir Walter Scott
"Summer eve is gone and past,
Summer dew is falling fast;
I have wander'd all the day,
Do not bid me farther stray!
Gentle hearts, of gentle kin,
Take the wandering harper in."
Fourth Sunday After Trinity
© John Keble
It was not then a poet's dream,
An idle vaunt of song,
Such as beneath the moon's soft gleam
On vacant fancies throng;
Macer : A Character
© Alexander Pope
When simple Macer, now of high renown,
First fought a Poet's Fortune in the Town,
Westland Row
© James Brunton Stephens
Every Sunday there's a throng
Of pretty girls, who trot along
In a pious, breathless state
(They are nearly always late)
To the Chapel, where they pray
For the sins of Saturday.
The Vision In The Valley
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
AMID the loveliest of all lonely vales,
Couched in soft silences of mountain calm,
And broadly shadowed both by pine and palm,
O'er which a tremulous golden vapor sails
Apology to Delia
© William Cowper
This evening, Delia, you and I,
Have managed most delightfully,
For with a frown we parted;
Having contrived some trifle that
We both may be much troubled at,
And sadly disconcerted.
The Spell
© Madison Julius Cawein
And we have met but twice or thrice!-
Three times enough to make me love!-
I praised your hair once; then your glove;
Your eyes; your gown;-you were like ice;
And yet this might suffice, my love,
And yet this might suffice.
De Camp On De "Cheval Gris"
© William Henry Drummond
You 'member de ole log-camp, Johnnie, up on de Cheval Gris,
W'ere we work so hard all winter, long ago you an' me?
Dere was fourteen man on de gang, den, all from our own paroisse,
An' only wan lef' dem feller is ourse'f an' Pierre Laframboise.
Ghosts
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
There are ghosts in the room.
As I sit here alone, from the dark corners there
They come out of the gloom,
And they stand at my side and they lean on my chair.
