All Poems
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The Slaves Lament
© Robert Burns
It was in sweet Senegal that my foes did me enthrall
For the lands of Virginia-ginia O;
Torn from that lovely shore, and must never see it more,
And alas! I am weary, weary O!
Torn from &c.
The Rosciad
© Charles Churchill
Unknowing and unknown, the hardy Muse
Boldly defies all mean and partial views;
With honest freedom plays the critic's part,
And praises, as she censures, from the heart.
The 4.04 Train
© Carolyn Wells
"There's a train at 4.04," said Miss Jenny;
"Four tickets I'll take. Have you any?"
Said the man at the door:
"Not four for 4.04,
For four for 4.04 is too many."
The Touch of Time
© John Le Gay Brereton
Yet what if all your fairness were defaced,
Wilted by passionate whirlwinds, battle-scarred,
Your skin of delicate satin hard and dry?
Still you would be the laughing girl who graced
A gloomy manhood, by forebodings marred,
In the deep wood where still we love to lie.
After Death
© Sara Teasdale
Now while my lips are living
Their words must stay unsaid,
And will my soul remember
To speak when I am dead?
Hymn II. Wake my Soul, rise from this Bed
© John Austin
Wake my Soul, rise from this Bed
Of dull and sluggish earth:
Sonnet LXIII: Inclusiveness
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
The changing guests, each in a different mood,
Sit at the roadside table and arise:
Lamia. Part II
© John Keats
Love in a hut, with water and a crust,
IsLove, forgive us!cinders, ashes, dust;
The Stealing Of The Mare - VI
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Said the Narrator:
And when the Emir Abu Zeyd had departed with the mare, and had taken his leave of the Princess Alia, and had passed into the outer pastures, then remained the Princess a long while weeping at his going, and in doubt how she should meet her people, and in fear of what might come to her through the stealing of the mare. And she returned to her tent, and threw herself upon her bed, weeping with both eyes. This for her. But as to the Emir Abu Zeyd, he too fell adoubting as he rode; and he said, ``If I go back now to the Arabs, mine own people, and to my business, nor take thought of Alia, it will certainly happen that our doings will be made known, and her father will slay her; and, on the other hand, if I should return to her, it will be a matter of long duration, and I shall be a great while withheld from my people and my affairs. Now, therefore, it were better I should go see that which is happening among them.'' And he stopped at a fountain of water, and he drank of it, and he gave his mare to drink. And he sat him down to think over all his plan, and he remembered the day of judgment, and the oath that he had taken to Alia that he would return to her before going to his own people. And this is what happened in the case of the Emir Abu Zeyd.
And at this point the Narrator began once more to sing, and it was in the following verses:
What Is Love?
© Ernest Christopher Dowson
What is Love?
Is it a folly,
Is it mirth, or melancholy?
Joys above,
Are there many, or not any?
What is Love?
After Long Years.
© Arthur Henry Adams
"AND have I changed?" she asked, and as she spoke
The old smile o'er her pale face bravely broke,
And in her eyes dead worlds of pathos woke.
Changed? When I knew again the ghost of each
Song Against Children
© Aline Murray Kilmer
THE barberry bright, the barberry bright!
It stood on the mantelpiece because of the height.
Its stems were slender and thorny and tall
And it looked most beautiful against the grey wall.
But Michael climbed up there in spite of the height
And he ate all the berries off the barberry bright.
My Father Holds the Door for Yoko Ono by Christopher Chambers: American Life in Poetry #88 Ted Koose
© Ted Kooser
This wistful poem shows how the familiar and the odd, the real and imaginary, exist side by side. A Midwestern father transforms himself from a staid businessman into a rock-n-roll star, reclaiming a piece of his imaginary youth. In the end, it shows how fragile moments might be recovered to offer a glimpse into our inner lives.
Mary Magdalene At The Door Of Simon The Pharisee.
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
WHY wilt thou cast the roses from thine hair?
Nay, be thou all a rose,wreath, lips, and cheek.
Innocence
© Patrick Kavanagh
But now I am back in her briary arms
The dew of an Indian Summer lies
On bleached potato-stalks
What age am I?
Song. Translated From The Italian
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Oh! what is the gain of restless care,
And what is ambitious treasure?
And what are the joys that the modish share,
In their sickly haunts of pleasure?
A Complaint
© Confucius
He lodged us in a spacious house,
And plenteous was our fare.
But now at every frugal meal
There's not a scrap to spare.
Alas! alas that this good man
Could not go on as he began!
