All Poems
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My Way
© Anna Akhmatova
One goes in straightforward ways,
One in a circle roams:
Waits for a girl of his gone days,
Or for returning home.
The Beatific Vision
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Through what fierce incarnations, furled
In fire and darkness, did I go,
Ere I was worthy in the world
To see a dandelion grow?
Smyrna
© John Newton
The message first to Smyrna sent,
A message full of grace;
To all the Saviour's flock is meant,
In every age and place.
The Last Of May
© William Makepeace Thackeray
By fate's benevolent award,
Should I survive the day,
I'll drink a bumper with my lord
Upon the last of May.
Dirge
© George Darley
Prayer unsaid, and mass unsung, Deadman's dirge must still be rung:
Dingle-dong, the dead-bells sound! Mermen chant his dirge around!
Unser Gott
© Karle Wilson Baker
(Yea, "Unser Gott! Our strength is Unser Gott!
Not that light-minded Bon Dieu of France!")
The Retreat From Moscow
© George Moses Horton
Sad Moscow, thy fate do I see,
Fire! fire! in the city all cry;
Like quails from the eagle all flee,
Escape in a moment or die.
Yew-Trees
© William Wordsworth
There is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale,
Which to this day stands single, in the midst
Of its own darkness, as it stood of yore:
Limerick:There was an Old Man at a casement
© Edward Lear
There was an Old Man at a casement,
Who held up his hands in amazement;
When they said, 'Sir, you'll fall!'
He replied, 'Not at all!'
That incipient Old Man at a casement.
A Bard's Epitaph
© Robert Burns
Is there a whim-inspired fool,
Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule,
Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool,
Let him draw near;
And owre this grassy heap sing dool,
And drap a tear.
An Old Tune
© Gerard de Nerval
THERE is an air for which I would disown
Mozart's, Rossini's, Weber's melodies, -
A sweet sad air that languishes and sighs,
And keeps its secret charm for me alone.
Associations
© William Lisle Bowles
As o'er these hills I take my silent rounds,
Still on that vision which is flown I dwell,
The Two Malefactors
© John Newton
Sovereign grace has pow'r alone
To subdue a heart of stone;
And the moment grace is felt,
Then the hardest heart will melt.
From The Cross
© John Donne
Who can blot out the Cross, which thinstrument
Of God, dewd on me in the Sacrament?
Annie Of Tharaw. (From The Low German Of Simon Dach)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
This turns to a heaven the hut where we dwell;
While wrangling soon changes a home to a hell.
