All Poems
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Chamber Music
© John Jay Chapman
SILENCE: the sunset gilds the frozen ground,
But here within all's curtained; stands are set
In the wide salon where gilt chairs abound,
And eager listeners wait. The band is met
Whose tuning sheds a cheerful hum around:
Prophetic notes! The tapers brighten at the sound.
Love And Beauty: III: To A Fair Woman, Unsatisfied With Woman's Work
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
If Beauty is a name for visible Love,
And Love for Beauty in the conscious soul,
Divine Love Endures No Rival
© William Cowper
Love is the Lord whom I obey,
Whose will transported I perform;
The centre of my rest, my stay,
Love's all in all to me, myself a worm.
Words In The Night
© George MacDonald
I woke at midnight, and my heart,
My beating heart, said this to me:
Stanzas In Meditation: Stanza XV
© Gertrude Stein
Should they may be they might if they delight
In why they must see it be there not only necessarily
Visitor
© William Ernest Henley
Her little face is like a walnut shell
With wrinkling lines; her soft, white hair adorns
Avenue In Savernake Forest
© William Lisle Bowles
How soothing sound the gentle airs that move
The innumerable leaves, high overhead,
The Mask Of Anarchy
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
I.
As I lay asleep in Italy
There came a voice from over the Sea,
And with great power it forth led me
To walk in the visions of Poesy.
A Day in Sussex
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The dove did lend me wings. I fled away
From the loud world which long had troubled me.
Rosamund
© Jean Ingelow
I dwell where England narrows running north;
And while our hay was cut came rumours up
Humming and swarming round our heads like bees:
What The Scare-Crow Said
© Vachel Lindsay
The dim-winged spirits of the night
Do fear and serve me well.
They creep from out the hedges of
The garden where I dwell.
Invitation
© Sri Aurobindo
With wind and the weather beating round me
Up to the hill and the moorland I go.
Who will come with me? Who will climb with me?
Wade through the brook and tramp through the snow?
His Monument
© Sarah Knowles Bolton
He built a house, time laid it in the dust;
He wrote a book, its title now forgot;
He ruled a city, but his name is not
On any tablet graven, or where rust
Can gather from disuse, or marble bust.
Clean by Jeff Vande Zande: American Life in Poetry #82 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006
© Ted Kooser
Many poems celebrate the joys of having children. Michigan poet Jeff Vande Zande reminds us that adults make mistakes, even with children they love, and that parenting is about fear as well as joy.
Dedication
© John Keble
When in my silent solitary walk,
I sought a strain not all unworthy Thee,
My heart, still ringing with wild worldly talk,
Gave forth no note of holier minstrelsy.
The Three Pilgrims
© Archibald Lampman
In days, when the fruit of men's labour was sparing,
And hearts were weary and nigh to break,
A sweet grave man with a beautiful bearing
Came to us once in the fields and spake.
Distant Rainfall
© Robinson Jeffers
Like mourning women veiled to the feet
Tall slender rainstorms walk slowly against gray cloud along the
Beauty: [Notes for an unfinished poem]
© Wilfred Owen
The beautiful, the fair, the elegant,
Is that which pleases us, says Kant,
Without a thought of interest or advantage.
Doubt Heralding Vision
© George MacDonald
An angel saw me sitting by a brook,
Pleased with the silence, and the melodies
