All Poems
/ page 792 of 3210 /
Sonnet. Written On A Blank Space At The End Of Chaucer's Tale Of 'The Floure And The Lefe'
© John Keats
This pleasant tale is like a little copse:
The honied lines do freshly interlace,
To keep the reader in so sweet a place,
So that he here and there full hearted stops;
From Boethius
© Samuel Johnson
O Thou! whose power o'er moving worlds presides,
Whose voice created, and whose wisdom guides,
A Christmas Song
© Alaric Alexander Watts
The present moment's all our own,
The next, who ever saw! ~ Mickle.
The Colonists
© Katharine Tynan
To men now of her blood and race
England's a little garden place,
Dear as a woman is, and she
The Queen of every loyalty.
Advice To A Raven In Russia (1812)
© Joel Barlow
Black fool, why winter here? These frozen skies,
Worn by your wings and deafen'd by your cries,
The Artist
© Madison Julius Cawein
In story books, when I was very young,
I knew you first, one of the Fairy Race;
"Is There A Bitter Pang For Love Removed"
© Thomas Hood
That love might die with sorrow:I am sorrow;
And she, that loves me tenderest, doth press
Most poison from my cruel lips, and borrow
Only new anguish from the old caress;
Oh, this world's grief
Hath no relief
"My mission in the world"
© Lesbia Harford
My mission in the world
Is to prolong
Rapture by turning it
Into a song.
In Memoriam A. H. H.: 45
© Alfred Tennyson
This use may lie in blood and breath
Which else were fruitless of their due,
Had man to learn himself anew
Beyond the second birth of Death.
The Voyagers
© Roderic Quinn
HOW was it with the Genoese,
What feeling filled his heaving breast,
When far across the morning seas
He saw the island of his quest?
Father William
© Lewis Carroll
"You are old, father William," the young man said,
"And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head -
Do you think, at your age, it is right?"
De Wet
© Jessie Pope
Foe and friend and foe again,
Turning coat and turning yet,
That's a feat you don't disdain,
De Wet.
Playmates
© Ralph Hodgson
It's sixty years ago, the people say:
Two village children, neighbours born and bred,
I Took His Dreams
© Margaret Widdemer
I TOOK his dreams from him,
Boy-dreams of gold and red,
I gave him sorrows dim,
White grief, instead, . . .
And for a little space
Joy in my careless face.
Nemesis
© Arthur Henry Adams
All things must fade. There is for cities tall
The same tomorrow as for daffodils:
Time's wind, that casts the seed, the petal spills.
Grim London's ruined arches yet shall fall
Sonnet
© Pontus de Tyard
Père du doux repos, Sommeil, père du songe,
Maintenant que la nuit, d'une grande ombre obscure,
Faict à cet air serein humide couverture,
Viens, Sommeil désiré, et dans mes yeux te plonge.
Written in Westminster Abbey
© Samuel Rogers
Whoe'er thou art, approach, and, with a sigh,
Mark where the small remains of Greatness lie.
There sleeps the dust of Him for ever gone;
How near the Scene where once his Glory shone!
"You, whom the grave cannot bind"
© Lesbia Harford
You, whom the grave cannot bind,
Shall a song hold you?
Still you escape from the mesh
Spun to enfold you.
