All Poems
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Grasshoppers
© John Clare
Grasshoppers go in many a thumming spring
And now to stalks of tasseled sow-grass cling,
That shakes and swees awhile, but still keeps straight;
While arching oxeye doubles with his weight.
Next on the cat-tail-grass with farther bound
He springs, that bends until they touch the ground.
Margaret Has A Milking-Pail
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
Margaret has a milking-pail,
And she rises early;
The Oak And The Broom
© William Wordsworth
A Pastoral
I
HIS simple truths did Andrew glean
Beside the babbling rills;
The Captain's Wife
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
I do not say the day is long and weary,
For while thou art content to be away,
Living in thee, oh Love, I live thy day,
And reck not if mine own be sad and dreary.
Bad Days
© Boris Pasternak
When Passion week started and Jesus
Came down to the city, that day
Hosannahs burst out at his entry
And palm leaves were strewn in his way.
The Tomb of Ilaria Giunigi
© Edith Wharton
ILARIA, thou that wert so fair and dear
That death would fain disown thee, grief made wise
"I love to see"
© Lesbia Harford
I love to see
Her looking up at me,
Stretched on a bed
In her pink dressing gown,
In Praise Of A Maiden
© Confucius
O sweet maiden, so fair and retiring,
At the corner I'm waiting for you;
And I'm scratching my head, and inquiring
What on earth it were best I should do.
Le Cygne (The Swan)
© Charles Baudelaire
Andromaque, je pense à vous! Ce petit fleuve,
Pauvre et triste miroir où jadis resplendit
L'immense majesté de vos douleurs de veuve,
Ce Simoïs menteur qui par vos pleurs grandit,
A Tusculan Question
© Alfred Austin
One day as on an ass I rode,
By many a twisting gully,
To where once stood the famed abode
Of philosophic Tully,
Limerick: There was an Old Man of the North
© Edward Lear
There was an Old Man of the North,
Who fell into a basin of broth;
But a laudable cook,
Fished him out with a hook,
Which saved that Old Man of the North
Our HomeOur Country
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
YOUR home was mine,--kind Nature's gift;
My love no years can chill;
In vain their flakes the storm-winds sift,
The snow-drop hides beneath the drift,
A living blossom still.
Der Alte Und Der Junge Wein
© Gotthold Ephraim Lessing
Ihr Alten trinkt, euch jung und froh zu trinken:
Drum mag der junge Wein
Fuer euch, ihr Alten, sein.
To A Friend On His Nuptials
© Matthew Prior
When Jove lay bless'd in his Alcmæna's charms,
Three nights in one he press'd her in his arms;
Concepcion De Arguello
© Francis Bret Harte
Looking seaward, o'er the sand-hills stands the fortress, old and
quaint,
By the San Francisco friars lifted to their patron saint,--
To Sappho II
© Sara Teasdale
Your lines that linger for us down the years,
Like sparks that tell the glory of a flame,
Still keep alight the splendor of your name,
And living still, they sting us into tears.
