All Poems
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Sonnet
© Elizabeth Bishop
There is a magic made by melody:
A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool
Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep
To the subaqueous stillness of the sea,
And floats forever in a moon-green pool,
Held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep.
Sick I Am And Sorrowful
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
Heard again the storm clouds roll hanging over Lugnaquilla,
Built dream castles from the sands of Killiney's golden shore.
If I saw the wild geese fly over the dark lakes of Kerry
Or could hear the secret winds, I could kneel and pray.
But 'tis sick I am and grieving, how can I be well again
Here, where fear and sorrow aremy heart so far away?
Self-Harmony.
© Robert Crawford
Ourselves within ourselves, we then are free
To touch the world at every turn, and take
The moods of men and mingle them with ours;
But ourselves out of ourselves, we are slaved
from 'The Princess'
© Alfred Tennyson
'Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font:
The fire-fly wakens: wake thou with me.
Miracles
© Thomas Bailey Aldrich
Sick of myself and all that keeps the light
Of the wide heavens away from me and mine,
Unarmed Combat
© Henry Reed
In due course of course you will all be issued with
Your proper issue; but until tomorrow,
You can hardly be said to need it; and until that time,
We shall have unarmed combat. I shall teach you.
The various holds and rolls and throws and breakfalls
Which you may sometimes meet.
The Complaint
© Washington Allston
"Oh, had I Colin's winning ease,"
Said Lindor with a sigh,
"So carelessly ordained to please,
I'd every care defy.
Sonnet XLIV. Veiled Memories.
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
OF love that was, of friendship in the days
Of youth long gone, yet oft remembered still,
And seen like distant landscapes from a hill,
Clothed in a garment of aërial haze,
The Babies of Walloon
© Henry Lawson
He was lengthsman on the railway, and his station scarce deserved
That pre-eminence in sorrow of the Majesty he served,
But as dear to him and precious were the gifts reclaimed so soon
Were the workmans little daughters who were buried near Walloon.
The Ruined Mill
© Madison Julius Cawein
There is the ruined water-mill
With its rotten wheel, that stands as still
The Happy Traveller
© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay
WHO is the monarch of the Road?
I, the happy rover!
Lord of the way which lies before
Up to the hill and over--
Owner of all beneath the blue,
On till the end, and after, too!
The Hen's Complaint
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
With drooping wings and nodding head,
These are the clucked-out words she said:
A Rainy Day in Camp
© Anonymous
Tis a cheerless, lonesome evening
When the soaking, sodden ground
Will not echo to the footfall
of the sentinel's dull round.
Arizona Poems: Mexican Quarter
© John Gould Fletcher
By an alley lined with tumble-down shacks,
And street-lamps askew, half-sputtering,
On Anne Allen
© Edward Fitzgerald
The wind blew keenly from the Western sea,
And drove the dead leaves slanting from the tree--
Vanity of vanities, the Preacher saith--
Heaping them up before her Father's door
When I saw her whom I shall see no more--
We cannot bribe thee, Death.
De Asino Qui Dentibus Aeneidem Consumpsit.
© Richard Lovelace
A wretched asse the Aeneids did destroy:
A horse or asse is still the fate of Troy.
My Neighbors Garden
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
The serpent 'neath his apples
Will tempt me to my fall,
And thenI'll steal my neighbour's fruit
Across the garden wall.
