All Poems
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Womans Love
© Frances Anne Kemble
A maiden meek, with solemn, steadfast eyes,
Full of eternal constancy and faith,
Seven Poems
© John Masefield
VI
I went into the fields, but you were there
Waiting for me, so all the summer flowers
Were only glimpses of your starry powers;
Beautiful and inspired dust they were.
Bride Song (From 'The Prince's Progress')
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
Too late for love, too late for joy,
Too late, too late!
Next Of Kin
© Edgar Albert Guest
I notice when the news comes in
Of one who's claimed eternal glory,
The Fallen Pine-Cone
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
Across the wild sea-surges' ebb and flow;
Storm-winds of winter mellowed to a sigh,
Long-drawn and plaintive; or--how lingeringly!--
Soft echoes of the spring-tide's jocund breeze,
Blent with the summer south wind, murmuring low!
In Autumn
© Rubén Dario
I know there are those who ask: Why does he not
sing with the same wild harmonies as before?
But they have not seen the labors of an hour
the work of a minute, the prodigies of a year.
Deer
© Ellis Parker Butler
The deer's a mighty useful beast
From Petersburg to Tennyson
For while he lives he lopes around
And when he's dead he's venison.
Winter
© Samuel Johnson
No more the morn with tepid rays
Unfolds the flower of various hue;
Noon spreads no more the genial blaze,
Nor gentle eve distills the dew.
Evil Influence
© George MacDonald
'Tis not the violent hands alone that bring
The curse, the ravage, and the downward doom,
A Letter to Her Husband, Absent upon Public Employment
© Anne Bradstreet
My head, my heart, mine eyes, my life, nay, more,
My joy, my magazine of earthly store, storehouse
Revolutions
© Matthew Arnold
Before man parted for this earthly strand,
While yet upon the verge of heaven he stood,
God put a heap of letters in his hand,
And bade him make with them what word he could.
Preparatory Meditations - Second Series: 12
© Edward Taylor
Dull, dull indeed! What, shall it e'er be thus?
And why? Are not Thy promises, my Lord,
Rich, quick'ning things? How should my full cheeks blush
To find me thus? And those a lifeless word?
My heart is heedless: unconcerned hereat:
I find my spirits spiritless and flat.
The Opening Run
© William Henry Ogilvie
The rain-sodden grass in the ditches is dying,
The berries are red to the crest of the thorn ;
Correspondences
© Allen Tate
All nature is a temple where the alive
Pillars breathe often a tremor of mixed words;
Man wanders in a forest of accords
That peer familiarly from each ogive.
Pax Britannica
© Alfred Austin
Behind her rolling ramparts England lay,
Impregnable, and girt by cliff-built towers,
Weaving to peace and plenty, day by day,
The long-drawn hours.
The Ropewalk. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The First)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
In that building, long and low,
With its windows all a-row,
Like the port-holes of a hulk,
Human spiders spin and spin,
Backward down their threads so thin
Dropping, each a hempen bulk.
The Surgeon At 2 A.M.
© Sylvia Plath
The white light is artificial, and hygienic as heaven.
The microbes cannot survive it.
Jump-To-Glory Jane
© George Meredith
A revelation came on Jane,
The widow of a labouring swain:
And first her body trembled sharp,
Then all the woman was a harp
With winds along the strings; she heard,
Though there was neither tone nor word.
Green-Striped Melons by Jane Hirshfield : American Life in Poetry #227 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureat
© Ted Kooser
Jane Hirshfield, a Californian and one of my favorite poets, writes beautiful image-centered poems of clarity and concision, which sometimes conclude with a sudden and surprising deepening. Here’s just one example.
Green-Striped Melons
They lie
