All Poems
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In Memoriam A. H. H.: 121.
© Alfred Tennyson
The market boat is on the stream,
And voices hail it from the brink;
Thou hear'st the village hammer clink,
And see'st the moving of the team.
Psalm LXXXVII. (87)
© John Milton
Among the holy Mountains high
Is his foundation fast,
There Seated in his Sanctuary,
His Temple there is plac't.
To Hon. R.G.H. Upon His 78th Birthday
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
CLOSE to the verge of fourscore crowded years
Your heart is strong, your soul serene and bright;
As when confronting first life's hopes and fears--
The star of manhood crowned your brow with light.
Leaving Early
© Sylvia Plath
Lady, your room is lousy with flowers.
When you kick me out, that's what I'll remember,
Hercule
© André Marie de Chénier
Oeta, mont ennobli par cette nuit ardente,
Quand l'infidèle époux d'une épouse imprudente
Stanzas. In A Drear-Nighted December
© John Keats
1.
In drear-nighted December,
Too happy, happy tree,
Thy branches ne'er remember
The Place Of The Solitaires
© Wallace Stevens
Let the place of the solitaires
Be a place of perpetual undulation.
Ring Out , Wild Bells
© Alfred Tennyson
Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light;
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.
The Dolefull Lay of Clorinda
© Mary Sidney Herbert
Ay me, to whom shall I my case complaine,
That may compassion my impatient griefe!
Or where shall I unfold my inward paine,
That my enriven heart may find reliefe!
Shall I unto the heavenly powres it show?
Or unto earthly men that dwell below?
The End Of April
© Robert Fuller Murray
Vain are the efforts hapless mortals ply
To climb of knowledge the forbidden tree;
Yet still about its roots they strive and cry,
And James is going in for his degree.
Ballade Of The Southern Cross
© Andrew Lang
Britannia, when thy hearth's a-cold,
When o'er thy grave has grown the moss,
Still Rule Australia shall be trolled
In Islands of the Southern Cross!
A Song Of Spring
© Katharine Tynan
The Spring comes slowly up this way,
Slowly, slowly,
Under a snood of hodden grey.
Ballad
© Jonathan Swift
A WONDERFUL age
Is now on the stage:
I'll sing you a song, if I can,
How modern Whigs,
Dance forty-one jigs,
But God bless our gracious Queen Anne.
At the Fords Of Jordan
© Mary Hannay Foott
Ere my hand to the husbandmans toil had been trained,
Or my foot to the slow-moving flocks had been chained,
I, too, would have marched in the long line of spears,
With the youthful, the courtly, the brave for my peers.
Astronomy
© John Kenyon
Lucinda! Lucinda! why all this abstraction?
May astronomy hold no communion with mirth?
Ask Me No More
© Alfred Tennyson
Ask me no more: the moon may draw the sea;
The cloud may stoop from heaven and take the shape,
With fold to fold, of mountain or of cape;
But O too fond, when have I answer'd thee?
Ask me no more.
The Eve Of Waterloo
© George Gordon Byron
There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gathered then
