All Poems
/ page 725 of 3210 /
Italy : 12. Italy
© Samuel Rogers
Am I in Italy? Is this the Mincius?
Are those the distant turrets of Verona?
And shall I sup where Juliet at the Masque
Saw her loved Montague, and now sleeps by him?
How few are we. Probably three...
© Boris Pasternak
How few are we. Probably three
In all-coallike, burning, infernal
Beneath the grey bark of the tree
Of wisdom, and clouds, and eternal
Debate on verse, transport, the part
The army will play-and on art.
Thoughts on Imputed Righteousness - Occasioned by Reading Theron and Aspasio : Part IV.
© John Byrom
What num'rous texts from Paul, from ev'ry saint,
Might furnish our citations, did we want?
A Long-Felt Want
© Carolyn Wells
One day wee Willie and his dog
Sprawled on the nursery floor.
He had a florist's catalogue,
And turned the pages o'er,
An Answer to Frances Cornford
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Why do you rush through the fields in trains,
Guessing so much and so much.
Why do you flash through the flowery meads,
Fat-head poet that nobody reads;
And why do you know such a frightful lot
About people in gloves and such?
Lines On H---'s Foot
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
It may be you've seen her eyes,
Dark and deep like midnight skies;
At The Back Of The Brain.
© Robert Crawford
At the back of the brain a picture lies
Of all we have been and done,
And ever and then a color flames
In the shadow of thought's sun.
Up North
© Mary Hannay Foott
Oh, days of dolor and nights of drouth,
While she watched for a sail in vain,
Or the tawny tinge of a river mouth,
Or the rush of the tropic rain.
The Light from Within
© Jones Very
I saw on earth another light
Than that which lit my eye
Come forth as from my soul within,
And from a higher sky.
My Room
© George MacDonald
But when, sinking slow, the sun
Leaves the glowing curtain dun,
I, of prophet-insight reft,
Shall be dull and dreamless left;
I must hasten proof on proof,
Weaving in the warp my woof!
Uncle Joe's Hail Columbia
© Henry Clay Work
Ring de Bells in eb'ry steeple!
Raise the Flag on high!
De Lord has come to Sabe the people -
Now let me die.
Paulo Purganti And His Wife: An Honest, But A Simple Pair
© Matthew Prior
On marry'd Men, that dare be bad,
She thought no Mercy should be had;
They should be hang'd, or starv'd, or flead,
Or serv'd like Romish Priests in Swede.-
In short, all Lewdness She defy'd:
And stiff was her Parochial Pride.
Hymne
© Victor Marie Hugo
Ceux qui pieusement sont morts pour la patrie
Ont droit qu'à leur cercueil la foule vienne et prie.
Entre les plus beaux noms leur nom est le plus beau.
Toute gloire près d'eux passe et tombe éphémère ;
Et, comme ferait une mère,
La voix d'un peuple entier les berce en leur tombeau !
May-Day, 1837
© Caroline Norton
I.
MAY-DAY is come!--While yet the unwillng Spring
Checks with capricious frown the opening year,
Onward, where bleak winds have been whispering,
Aquae Sulis
© Thomas Hardy
The chimes called midnight, just at interlune,
And the daytime talk on the Roman investigations
Was checked by silence, save for the husky tune
The bubbling waters played near the excavations.
Tale XII
© George Crabbe
'SQUIRE THOMAS; OR THE PRECIPITATE CHOICE.
'Squire Thomas flatter'd long a wealthy Aunt,
Recollections
© Denis Florence MacCarthy
Ah! summer time, sweet summer scene,
When all the golden days,
Linked hand-in-hand, like moonlit fays,
Danced o'er the deepening green.
Part of an Irregular Fragment
© Helen Maria Williams
I.
Rise, winds of night! relentless tempests, rise!
To One Slain In Absence.
© Arthur Henry Adams
AND so we parted, love, oblivious
That we were parting! With our laughter light,
Flouting the future, on the morrow bright
At our old tryst we would once more discuss
