All Poems
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Sonnet To Sleep
© John Keats
O soft embalmer of the still midnight!
Shutting, with careful fingers and benign,
Our gloom-pleas'd eyes, embower'd from the light,
Enshaded in forgetfulness divine;
The Eavesdropper
© Bliss William Carman
The livelong day the elvish leaves
Danced with their shadows on the floor;
And the lost children of the wind
Went straying homeward by our door.
The Mad Philosopher
© Ambrose Bierce
The flabby wine-skin of his brain
Yields to some pathologic strain,
And voids from its unstored abysm
The driblet of an aphorism.
Anacreon's Apology
© Gamaliel Bradford
An eye where love with laughter twinkles,
And songs on kisses still insistent,
Blended with graying hair and wrinkles,
To you, my child, seem inconsistent?
The Ballad[e] Of The Bore
© Henry Austin Dobson
Prince Phoebus, all must die,
Or well- or evil-starred,
Or whole of heart or scarred;
But why in this way-why?
Defend us from The Bard!
Marguerite de Roberval
© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay
Ah, my dear!
I saw you die, and could not help or save
Knowing myself to be the awful care
That weighed thee to thy grave!
The Ghost
© Kenneth Slessor
"BEES of old Spanish wine
Pipe at this Inn to-night,
Music and candleshine
Fill the dim chambers . . . .
Adieu To A Solider
© Walt Whitman
Adieu, dear comrade!
Your mission is fulfill'd-but I, more warlike,
Myself, and this contentious soul of mine,
The Voyage
© Charles Baudelaire
À Maxime du Camp
I
For the child, in love with globe, and stamps,
the universe equals his vast appetite.
Hymn - He Sendeth Sun, He Sendeth Shower
© Sarah Flower Adams
He sendeth sun, he sendeth shower,
Alike they're needful for the flower:
And joys and tears alike are sent
To give the soul fit nourishment.
As comes to me or cloud or sun,
Father! thy will, not mine, be done!
Keepen Up O Chrismas
© William Barnes
An' zoo you didden come athirt,
To have zome fun last night: how wer't?
The Tram (In The Midlands)
© Robert Laurence Binyon
III
A boy with a bunch of primroses!
He sits uneasy, flushed of cheek,
With wandering eyes and does not speak:
His hands are hot; the flowers are his.
The North Star
© Robert Laurence Binyon
I was contented with the warm silence,
Sitting by the fire, book on knee;
And fancy uncentred, afloat and astray,
Idled from thought to thought
Lachin Y Gair
© George Gordon Byron
Away, ye gay landscapes, ye garden of roses!
In you let the minions of luxury rove;
Restore me to the rocks, where the snowflake reposes,
Though still they are sacred to freedom and love:
The Newcomer's Wife
© Thomas Hardy
He paused on the sill of a door ajar
That screened a lively liquor-bar,
For the name had reached him through the door
Of her he had married the week before.
In The Valley Of The Waters
© George Gordon Byron
In the valley of the waters we wept o'er the day
When the host of the stranger made Salem his prey,
And our heads on our bosoms all droopingly lay,
And our hearts were so full of the land far away.
The Nativity of Christ
© Robert Southwell
Behold the father is his daughter's son,
The bird that built the nest is hatched therein,
The old of years an hour hath not outrun,
Eternal life to live doth now begin,
The Word is dumb, the mirth of heaven doth weep,
Might feeble is, and force doth faintly creep.
