All Poems
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Hymn XXX: Where Shall My Wondering Soul Begin?
© Charles Wesley
Where shall my wondering soul begin?
How shall I all to heaven aspire?
A slave redeemed from death and sin,
A brand plucked from eternal fire,
How shall I equal triumphs raise,
Or sing my great Deliverer's praise?
Sister
© Gabriela Mistral
Today I saw a woman plowing a furrow. Her hips are
broad, like mine, for love, and she goes about her work
bent over the earth.
Recollections
© Giacomo Leopardi
Ye dear stars of the Bear, I did not think
I should again be turning, as I used,
No Message
© Mary Hannay Foott
She heard the story of the end,
Each message, too, she heard;
And there was one for every friend;
For her alone - no word.
"I dreamt last night of happy home-comings"
© Lesbia Harford
I dreamt last night of happy home-comings.
Friends I had loved and had believed were dead
Came happily to visit me and said
I was a part of their fair home-coming
Epitaph
© Victor Marie Hugo
He lived, he played, a little laughing sprite:
Why, Nature, didst thou snatch him from the light?
Hast thou not myriad birds within thy bowers?
Stars, and great woods, blue skies, and ocean wild?
Why, then, from his lone mother snatch the child,
And hid him underneath the bed of flowers?
O, Pity The Slave Mother
© Anonymous
I pity the slave mother, careworn and weary,
Who sighs as she presses her babe to her breast;
To Dr. Richard Helsham Upon My Recovery From A Dangerous Fit Of Sickness.
© Mary Barber
For fleeting Life recall'd, for Health restor'd,
Be first the God of Life and Health ador'd;
Whose boundless Mercy claims this Tribute due:
And next to Heav'n, I owe my Thanks to you;
My Old Palette
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
Many a year has fled away
Since this old palette was new,
As may be seen by the spots of green
And yellow and red and blue.
The Town Of Nothing-To-Do
© Edgar Albert Guest
THEY say somewhere in the distance fair,
Is the town of Nothing-to-Do,
The Broomfield Hill
© Andrew Lang
There was a knight and lady bright
Set trysts amo the broom,
The one to come at morning eav,
The other at afternoon.
Love is reckless
© Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
Love is reckless; not reason.
Reason seeks a profit.
Love comes on strong,
consuming herself, unabashed.
General Pershing
© Edgar Albert Guest
He isn't long on speeches. At the banquet table, he
Could name a dozen places where he would much rather be.
He's not one for fuss and feathers or for marching in review,
But he's busy every minute when he's got a job to do.
And you'll find him in the open, fighting hard and fighting square
For the glory of his country when his boys get over there.
hum bhi khud dushman-e jaaN
© Ahmad Faraz
hum bhi khud dushman-e jaaN thay pehle
tum magar dost kahaN thay pehle
Last Visit To The Louvre The Cry Of The P.R.B., After A Careful Examination Of The Canvases Of Ruben
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
NON NOI PITTORI! God of Nature's truth,
If these, not we! Be it not said, when one
To The Pure All Things Are Pure
© Jones Very
The flowers I pass have eyes that look at me,
The birds have ears that hear my spirit's voice,
Critique
© Kostas Karyotakis
This is no longer a song, no human
hum. It can be heard reaching
as a last cry, in the depths of night,
of someone who has died.
In The Pine Barrens. Sunset.
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
HARK! to the mournful wind; its burden drear
Borne over leagues of desert wild and dun,
Sinks to a weary cadence of despair,
Beyond the closing gateways of the sun.
