All Poems
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Light Breeze
© Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
As regards feeling pain, like a hand cut in battle,
consider the body a robe you wear.
Sleep
© Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
HERE is a house, so great, so wide
It will take in the whole world's pride.
The Friend of Humanity and the Knife-grinder
© George Canning
"Needy Knife-grinder! whither are you going?
Rough is the road, your wheel is out of order-
Bleak blows the blast;-your hat has got a hole in't,
So have your breeches!
Lycus the Centaur
© Thomas Hood
FROM AN UNROLLED MANUSCRIPT OF APOLLONIUS CURIUS
(The Argument: Lycus, detained by Circe in her magical dominion, is beloved by a Water Nymph, who, desiring to render him immortal, has recourse to the Sorceress. Circe gives her an incantation to pronounce, which should turn Lycus into a horse; but the horrible effect of the charm causing her to break off in the midst, he becomes a Centaur).
Breakfast
© Sant Surdas
O Hari, 'tis morn, awake, there's water in the jar for you to wash your face no need to hurry there's plenty of time.
I'll bring you whatever you like for your breakfast- dried fruits, butter, honey and bread.
To Edward Clodd
© William Watson
Friend, in whose friendship I am twice well-starred,
A debt not time may cancel is your due;
ER RIFUGGIO (The Refuge)
© Giuseppe Gioacchino Belli
A le curte: te vòi sbrigà d'Aggnesa
Senza er risico tuo? Be', tu pprocura
D'ammazzalla vicino a quarche chiesa:
Poi scappa drento, e nun avé ppavura.
The Tendril's Faith
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
A under the snow in the dark and the cold,
pale little sprout was humming;
Limerick: There was an Old Man of Kilkenny
© Edward Lear
There was an Old Man of Kilkenny,
Who never had more than a penny;
He spent all that money,
In onions and honey,
That wayward Old Man of Kilkenny.
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet XXXV
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
At last I kneel in Rome, the bourne, the goal
Of what a multitude of laden hearts!
No pilgrim of them all a wearier soul
Brought ever here, no master of dark arts
Solomon on the Vanity of the World, A Poem. In Three Books. - Power. Book III.
© Matthew Prior
Come then, my soul: I call thee by that name,
Thou busy thing, from whence I know I am;
For, knowing that I am, I know thou art,
Since that must needs exist which can impart:
But how thou camest to be, or whence thy spring,
For various of thee priests and poets sing.
Good And Evil.
© Robert Crawford
Good thoughts, 'tis said, are no more than good dreams
Save they be into action put, and that
On opportunity depends. Alas!
If place and power cohered, what good were done
The Destroyer
© Edith Nesbit
ACROSS the quiet pastures of my soul
The invading army marched in splendid might
My few poor forces fled beyond control,
Scattered, defeated, hidden in the night.
Asoka
© Robert Laurence Binyon
I
Gentle as fine rain falling from the night,
The first beams from the Indian moon at full
Steal through the boughs, and brighter and more bright
The Dead
© Sylvia Plath
Revolving in oval loops of solar speed,
Couched in cauls of clay as in holy robes,
Dead men render love and war no heed,
Lulled in the ample womb of the full-tilt globe.
