All Poems
/ page 934 of 3210 /
Frost
© Edith Matilda Thomas
HOW small a tooth hath mined the seasons heart!
How cold a touch hath set the wood on fire,
Niggers Leap, New England
© Judith Wright
Did we not know their blood channelled our rivers,
and the black dust our crops ate was their dust?
O all men are one man at last. We should have known
the night that tidied up the cliffs and hid them
had the same question on its tongue for us.
And there they lie that were ourselves writ strange.
History
© William Watson
Here, peradventure, in this mirror glassed,
Who gazes long and well at times beholds
A Summer Night
© Matthew Arnold
A world above man's head, to let him see
How boundless might his soul's horizons be,
How vast, yet of what clear transparency!
How it were good to live there, and breathe free;
How fair a lot to fill
Is left to each man still!
Olney Hymn 59: A Living And A Dead Faith
© William Cowper
The Lord receives his highest praise
From humble minds and hearts sincere;
While all the loud professor says
Offends the righteous Judge's ear.
Thirteenth Sunday After Trinity
© John Keble
On Sinai's top, in prayer and trance,
Full forty nights and forty days
The Prophet watched for one dear glance
Of thee and of Thy ways:
In A Portrait Gallery
© John Kenyon
In vain, Bright Girl! you bid us mark
Each charm of portrait round us thrown,
Books And Seasons
© Thomas Bailey Aldrich
Because the sky is blue; because blithe May
Masks in the wren's note and the lilac's hue;
Beauty And The Beast
© Charles Lamb
"My Lord, I swear upon my knees,
"I did not mean to harm your trees;
"But a lov'd Daughter, fair as spring,
"Intreated me a Rose to bring;
"O didst thou know, my lord, the Maid!"-
Danse Du Venteje
© Arthur Symons
Her vices to her cling.
There's blood that stains her mouth;
Suspense of sense, a sting
On all her body's drouth
Of blood-red colouring.
To The Clouds
© Mikhail Lermontov
Clouds--ye eternal wanderers in hunting grounds of air,
High o'er the verdant Steppes, wide through the blue of heaven--
Coursing fraternal,--say, must ye exiled as I
From the beloved North to the far South be driven?
Prelude
© Edith Nesbit
OUT of the west when the sun was dying
Clouds of white wings came flying, flying,
Wheeling and whirling they swept away
Into the heart of the eastern gray;
But one white dove came straight to my breast
Out of the west.
The World Within Us
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
PERCHANCE our inward world may partly be
But outward Nature's fine epitome;
Now, o'er it floats some cloud of tender pain
Too frail to hold the sad reserves of rain;
The Disinterred Warrior
© William Cullen Bryant
Gather him to his grave again,
And solemnly and softly lay,
Curious
© Alexander Pushkin
--Whats new? I tell you, nothing whatsoever.
--Dont fool with me: youre hiding it, I know.
January
© William Carlos Williams
Again I reply to the triple winds
running chromatic fifths of derision
Lines Written By The Seaside (I)
© Frances Anne Kemble
O Lesbian! if thy faith were mine,
Then might I in that summer sea
What The Thrush Said. Lines From A Letter To John Hamilton Reynolds
© John Keats
O thou whose face hath felt the Winter's wind,
Whose eye has seen the snow-clouds hung in mist
And the black elm tops 'mong the freezing stars,
To thee the spring will be a harvest-time.
