All Poems
/ page 770 of 3210 /
To G. G.
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Graceful in name and in thyself, our river
None fairer saw in John Ward's pilgrim flock,
Proof that upon their century-rooted stock
The English roses bloom as fresh as ever.
The Visionary Hope
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Sad lot, to have no Hope! Though lowly kneeling
He fain would frame a prayer within his breast,
Would fain entreat for some sweet breath of healing,
That his sick body might have ease and rest;
How Great My Grief
© Thomas Hardy
How great my grief, my joys how few,
Since first it was my fate to know thee!
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet V
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The physical world itself is a fair thing
For who has eyes to see or ears to hear.
To--day I fled on my new freedom's wind,
With the first swallows of the parting year,
Song I
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
FLY, swiftly fly
Through yon fair sky,
O purple-pinioned Hours!
And bring once more the balmy night,
The Parish Register - Part I: Baptisms
© George Crabbe
floor.
Here his poor bird th' inhuman Cocker brings,
Arms his hard heel and clips his golden wings;
With spicy food th' impatient spirit feeds,
And shouts and curses as the battle bleeds.
Struck through the brain, deprived of both his
Only One Man Killed Today
© Anonymous
There are tears and wails in the old brown house
On the hillside steep today,
Sonnett - V
© James Russell Lowell
TO THE SPIRIT OF KEATS
Great soul, thou sittest with me in my room,
The Swallow
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
How I hate the sparrows, the sparrows, the sparrows.
In and out and round the house all the live-long day,
The Music Box
© Christopher Morley
AT six-long ere the wintry dawn-
There sounded through the silent hall
To where I lay, with blankets drawn
Above my ears, a plaintive call.
I, Too
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
I saw fond lovers in that glow
That oft-times fades away too soon:
I saw and said, "Their joy I know-
I, too, have had my honeymoon."
Saturation
© Piet Hein
The heavens are draining,
its raining and raining,
and everything couldnt be wetter,
and things are so bad
that we ought to be glad:
because now they can only get better.
Nightmare, With Angels
© Stephen Vincent Benet
An angel came to me and stood by my bedside,
Remarking in a professorial-historical-economic and irritated voice,
The Spirit
© Jones Very
I would not breathe, when blows thy mighty wind
O'er desolate hill and winter-blasted plain,
The Farewell
© Charles Churchill
_P_. Farewell to Europe, and at once farewell
To all the follies which in Europe dwell;
The South Wind
© William Rose Benet
I'm as full of wisdom as a tree of leaves,
But the South WInd flows, blows and grieves,
Life Is Bitter
© William Ernest Henley
Life is bitter. All the faces of the years,
Young and old, are gray with travail and with tears.
Must we only wake to toil, to tire, to weep?
In the sun, among the leaves, upon the flowers,
Slumber stills to dreamy death the heavy hours
Let me sleep.
