All Poems
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A Ballad, Shewing How An Old Woman Rode Double, And Who Rode Before Her
© Robert Southey
The Raven croak'd as she sate at her meal,
And the Old Woman knew what he said,
And she grew pale at the Raven's tale,
And sicken'd and went to her bed.
By The Fireside : The Open Window
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The old house by the lindens
Stood silent in the shade,
And on the gravelled pathway
The light and shadow played.
The Ship Of State
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
A SENTIMENT
This "sentiment" was read on the same occasion as the "Family Record,"
The Garden
© John Newton
A Garden contemplation suits,
And may instruction yield,
Sweeter than all the flow'rs and fruits
With which the spot is filled.
A Letter
© James Russell Lowell
From Mr. Hosea Biglow To The Hon. J.T. Buckingham, Editor Of The Boston Courier, Covering A Letter From Mr. B. Sawin, Private In The Massachusetts Regiment
This kind o' sogerin' aint a mite like our October trainin',
Highway
© Faiz Ahmed Faiz
A despondent highway is stretched,
its eyes set on the far horizon
On the cold dirt of its bosom,
its grayish beauty spread
Sister Songs-An Offering To Two Sisters - The Proem
© Francis Thompson
Shrewd winds and shrill--were these the speech of May?
A ragged, slag-grey sky--invested so,
Near The Snow-Line
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
SLOW toiling upward from' the misty vale,
I leave the bright enamelled zones below;
The Master-Player
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
AN old worn harp that had been played
Till all its strings were loose and frayed,
Fragment Of An Epistle To Thomas Moore
© George Gordon Byron
The Czar's look, I own, was much brighter and brisker,
But then he is sadly deficient in whisker;
And wore but a starless blue coat, and in kersey--
Mere breeches whisk'd round, in a waltz with the Jersey,
Who lovely as ever, seem'd just as delighted
With Majesty's presence as those she invited.
The Invitation to Selborne
© Gilbert White
See Selborne spreads her boldest beauties round
The varied valley, and the mountain ground,
Advice
© Franklin Pierce Adams
_Take it from me: A guy who's square,
His chances always are the best.
I'm in the know, for I've been there,
And that's no ancient Roman jest._
Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: XII
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
She was a little woman dressed in black,
Who stood on tiptoe with a childish air,
Her face and figure hidden in a sacque,
All but her eyes and forehead and dark hair.
Aspen Tree
© Paul Celan
Aspen Tree, your leaves glance white into the dark.
My mother's hair was never white.
Le Grenier
© William Makepeace Thackeray
Je viens revoir l'asile ou ma jeunesse
De la misere a subi les lecons.
In New Orleans
© Eugene Field
'Twas in the Crescent City not long ago befell
The tear-compelling incident I now propose to tell;
So come, my sweet collector friends, and listen while I sing
Unto your delectation this brief, pathetic thing-
No lyric pitched in vaunting key, but just a requiem
Of blowing twenty dollars in by nine o'clock a.m.
Crowds
© Charles Baudelaire
It is not given to every man to take a bath of multitude; enjoying a crowd is an art; and only he can relish a debauch of vitality at the expense of the human species, on whom, in his cradle, a fairy has bestowed the love of masks and masquerading, the hate of home, and the passion for roaming.
Multitude, solitude: identical terms, and interchangeable by the active and fertile poet. The man who is unable to people his solitude is equally unable to be alone in a bustling crowd.
