All Poems
/ page 874 of 3210 /
Brook Farm
© Louise Imogen Guiney
Down the long road, bent and brown,
Youth, that dearly loves a vision,
Ventures to the gate Elysian,
As a pilgrim from the town.
Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 1. Interlude I.
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The Landlord ended thus his tale,
Then rising took down from its nail
Erberts HOpinion
© Edgar Albert Guest
Hif a yankee cutthroat acks is poor hold mother,
Hit tykes a year to pack im hoff to jyle;
To Her Portrait
© Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz
'Tis but vain artifice of scheming minds;
'Tis but a flower fading on the winds;
'Tis but a useless protest against Fate;
'Tis but stupidity without a thought,
A lifeless shadow, if we meditate;
'Tis death, tis dust, tis shadow, yea, 'tis nought.
The Hand of Glory: The Nurse's Story
© Richard Harris Barham
And now before
That old Woman's door,
Where nought that 's good may be,
Hand in hand
The Murderers stand
By one, by two, by three!
Olney Hymn 64: Praise For Faith
© William Cowper
Of all the gifts Thine hand bestows,
Thou Giver of all good!
Not heaven itself a richer knows
Than my Redeemer's blood.
To Mr. Dryden
© Joseph Addison
How long, great Poet, shall thy sacred lays
Provoke our wonder, and transcend our praise?
A Soft Susurrus
© Franklin Pierce Adams
A soft susurrus in the night,
A song whose singer is unseen--
The Fox Hunt
© William Henry Drummond
I'm all bus' up, for a mont' or two,
On account of de wife I got,
The Solitary
© Robert Fuller Murray
I have been lonely all my days on earth,
Living a life within my secret soul,
With mine own springs of sorrow and of mirth,
Beyond the world's control.
Vision of Belshazzar
© George Gordon Byron
The King was on his throne,
The Satraps throng'd the hall:
A thousand bright lamps shone
O'er that high festival.
Jeanne Bras
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
Her ghost it still walks through the dark hours of night,
She sighs with the grief of the wind;
She holds in her hand a wax taper all white;
She seeks what she never will find.
What Mean Ye?
© Anonymous
What mean ye that ye bruise and bind
My people, saith the Lord,
And starve your craving brother's mind,
Who asks to hear my word?
Epitaph In Berkeley Church-Yard, Gloucestershire
© Jonathan Swift
Here lies the Earl of Suffolk's fool,
Men call'd him Dicky Pearce;
His folly served to make folks laugh,
When wit and mirth were scarce.
Sonnet LXXXIV: Farewell to the Glen
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Sweet stream-fed glen, why say farewell to thee
Who far'st so well and find'st for ever smooth
Of Himself
© William Cowper
William was once a bashful youth;
His modesty was such,
That one might say (to say the truth)
He rather had too much.
Rubaiyat 14
© Shams al-Din Hafiz
Since the flower withers in the dark,
The bud blooms to leave its mark,
Happy is the heart, light as a bubble,
At the tavern is naked, stark.
The Swallow
© William Cowper
I am fond of the swallow--I learn from her flight,
Had I skill to improve it, a lesson of love:
How seldom on earth do we see her alight!
She dwells in the skies, she is ever above.
The Leveller
© Robert Graves
Near Martinpuich that night of hell
Two men were struck by the same shell,
Together tumbling in one heap
Senseless and limp like slaughtered sheep.
The Man Who's Down
© Edgar Albert Guest
IT is well enough to cheer for the brother who is up,
It is fine to praise the brother who has captured victory's cup;
But don't keep your kind words always for the man who's won renown,
For the boy who really needs them is the fellow who is down.
