All Poems
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The Conquest
© George Gordon Byron
The Son of Love and Lord of War I sing;
Him who bade England bow to Normandy
And left the name of conqueror more than king
To his unconquerable dynasty.
Return
© Frances Anne Kemble
When the bright sun back on his yearly road
Comes towards us, his great glory seems to me,
The Shepherd's Week : Thursday; or, The Spell
© John Gay
Hobnelia.
Hobnelia, seated in a dreary vale,
The Patrician Peacocks And The Overweening Jay
© Guy Wetmore Carryl
Once a flock of stately peacocks
Promenaded on a green,
A Divine Pastorall
© Thomas Parnell
I know I cannot speak his mercy's through,
Yet what I can, of what I ought Ile do,
Mean as they are, my notes to him belong,
Mean as it is, he will reward my song.
Go on, my Muse go on, & gratefully express
The Creatures thanks, in the Creators praise.
Don Juan: Canto The Fourteenth
© George Gordon Byron
If from great nature's or our own abyss
Of thought we could but snatch a certainty,
James McCosh
© Robert Seymour Bridges
The laws of nature that he loved to trace
Have worked, at last, to veil from us his face;
The dear old elms and ivy-covered walls
Will miss his presence, and the stately halls
His trumpet voice. And in their joys
Sorrow will shadow those he called my boys!
Excerpts from "LES HEURES CLAIRES" (English translations)
© Emile Verhaeren
Oh, splendour of our joy and our delight,
Woven of gold amid the silken air!
See the dear house among its gables light,
And the green garden, and the orchard there!
Only A Smile
© Mathilde Blind
No butterfly whose frugal fare
Is breath of heliotrope and clove,
And other trifles light as air,
Could live on less than doth my love.
The Visionary Boy
© William Lisle Bowles
Oh! lend that lute, sweet Archimage, to me!
Enough of care and heaviness
Condolatory Address To Sarah, Countess Of Jersey, On The Prince Regent's Returning Her Picture To Mr
© George Gordon Byron
When the vain triumph of the imperial lord,
Whom servile Rome obey'd, and yet abhorr'd,
Gave to the vulgar gaze each glorious bust,
That left a likeness of the brave or just;
Thomas Hood
© William Watson
NO courtier this, and naught to courts he owed,
Fawned not on thrones, hymned not the great and callous,
Yet, in one strain, that few remember, showed
He had the password of King Oberon's palace.
Journalism in Cactus Center
© Arthur Chapman
Down here in Cactus Center we ain't much on splittin' hairs;
In the fancy shades of language we are puttin' on no airs,
Hush!
© Julia Caroline (Ripley) Dorr
Oh, hush thee, Earth! Fold thou thy weary palms!
The sunset glory fadeth in the west;
Sonnet Of Motherhood XXXI
© Zora Bernice May Cross
You are your mother, Dear, as I am mine.
And, as we slumber to our souls caress,
Those two who panged for us and weeping smiled,
Draw near and bind us in a peace divine.
O mother me; all else is comfortless
As painted lips above a dying child.
