All Poems

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Bedtime

© George MacDonald

"Come, children, put away your toys;
Roll up that kite's long line;
The day is done for girls and boys-
Look, it is almost nine!
Come, weary foot, and sleepy head,
Get up, and come along to bed."

A Living Picture

© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik

No, I'll not say your name. I have said it now,
As you mine, first in childish treble, then
Up through a score and more familiar years
Till baby-voices mock us. Time may come

Sordello: Book the Sixth

© Robert Browning

The thought of Eglamor's least like a thought,

And yet a false one, was, "Man shrinks to nought

Voices Of The Night

© Charles Stuart Calverley

The dew is on the roses,
The owl hath spread her wing;
And vocal are the noses
Of peasant and of king:
"Nature" (in short) "reposes;"
But I do no such thing.

At The Close Of A Course Of Lectures

© Oliver Wendell Holmes

As the voice of the watch to the mariner's dream,
As the footstep of Spring on the ice-girdled stream,
There comes a soft footstep, a whisper, to me,--
The vision is over,--the rivulet free.

Haunted

© Madison Julius Cawein

When grave the twilight settles o'er my roof,

And from the haggard oaks unto my door

The Duet

© Wilcox Ella Wheeler

I was smoking a cigarette;

Maud, my wife, and the tenor, McKey,

The Street

© James Russell Lowell

They pass me by like shadows, crowds on crowds,

Dim ghosts of men that hover to and fro,

The Spirit Of Prayer

© John Bunyan

Wouldst thou have that good, that blessed mind,

That is so much to heavenly things inclin'd

A Lay of the Loamshire Hunt Cup
"Aye, squire," said Stevens, "they back him at evens;
The race is all over, bar shouting, they say;
The Clown ought to beat her; Dick Neville is sweeter
Than ever - he swears he can win all the way.

Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 1. The Musician's Tale; The Saga of King Olaf I. -- The Challenge Of T

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I am the God Thor,
I am the War God,
I am the Thunderer!
Here in my Northland,
My fastness and fortress,
Reign I forever!

To a Child

© Judith Wright

When I was a child I saw
a burning bird in a tree.
I see became I am,
I am became I see.

To My Country

O dear my Country, beautiful and dear,

Love cloth not darken sight.

The Sweet Murmuring of the Woods

© Theocritus

Sweet is the music, O goat-herd,
Of yon whispering pine to the fountains,
And sweetly, too, is thine, breathed from thy pipe.

Marching Feet

THESE August nights, hushed but for drowsy peep

Of fledglings, tremble with a strange vibration,

Making Cider

And framed within the latticed-panes,
Above the cluttered sill,
Saw rooks upon the stubble hill
Seeking forgotten grains;

The Battling Days

© Henry Lawson

But the wild oats wave on their stormy path, and they speak of the hearts of men
I would sow a crop if I had my time in those hard old days again.
We travel first, or we go saloonon the planned-out trips we go,
With those who are neither rich nor poor, and we find that the life is slow;