Age poems

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To a Gentleman and Lady on the Death of the Lady's Brother and Sister

© Phillis Wheatley

But, Madam, let your grief be laid aside,
And let the fountain of your tears be dry'd,
In vain they flow to wet the dusty plain,
Your sighs are wafted to the skies in vain,
Your pains they witness, but they can no more,
While Death reigns tyrant o'er this mortal shore.

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Verses on Sir Joshua Reynold's Painted Window at New College, Oxford

© Thomas Warton

Reynolds, 'tis thine, from the broad window's height,
To add new lustre to religious light:
Not of its pomp to strip this ancient shrine,
But bid that pomp with purer radiance shine:
With arts unknown before, to reconcile
The willing Graces to the Gothic pile.

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The Emigrants: Book I

© Charlotte Turner Smith

Scene, on the Cliffs to the Eastward of the Town of

Brighthelmstone in Sussex. Time, a Morning in November, 1792.

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The Force That Through The Green Fuse Drives The Flower

© Dylan Thomas

The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer.
And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.

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Among Those Killed In The Dawn Raid Was A Man Aged A Hundred

© Dylan Thomas

When the morning was waking over the war

He put on his clothes and stepped out and he died,

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A Refusal To Mourn The Death, By Fire, Of A Child In London

© Dylan Thomas

Never until the mankind making
Bird beast and flower
Fathering and all humbling darkness
Tells with silence the last light breaking
And the still hour
Is come of the sea tumbling in harness

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To Virgil, Written at the Request of the Mantuans for the N

© Alfred Tennyson

Poet of the happy Tityrus
piping underneath his beechen bowers;
Poet of the poet-satyr
whom the laughing shepherd bound with flowers;

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The Comedian As The Letter C

© Wallace Stevens

379 Trinket pasticcio, flaunting skyey sheets,
380 With Crispin as the tiptoe cozener?
381 No, no: veracious page on page, exact.

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Sonnet LXIV: When I Have Seen by Time's Fell Hand Defac'd

© William Shakespeare

When I have seen by Time's fell hand defac'd

The rich proud cost of outworn buried age;

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Sound, Sound the Clarion

© Sir Walter Scott

Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife!
To all the sensual world proclaim,
One crowded hour of glorious life
Is worth an age without a name.

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Duino Elegies

© Rainer Maria Rilke

The First Elegy


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From an Atlas of the Difficult World

© Adrienne Rich

I know you are reading this poem

late, before leaving your office

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Envoi

© Ezra Pound

Go, dumb-born book,

Tell her that sang me once that song of Lawes:

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On the Welch Language

© Katherine Philips

If honor to an ancient name be due,


Or riches challenge it for one that's new,

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The Four Seasons

© Obi Nwakanma

The forest hugs them
carves them into stones,
Etches them into the slow
eastern landscape: rivers, hills
the slow running water,
times broken inscapes…

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Lion and Honeycomb

© Howard Nemerov

He asked himself, poor moron, because he had
Nobody else to ask. The others went right on
Talking about form, talking about myth
And the (so help us) need for a modern idiom;
The verseballs among them kept counting syllables.

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Modern Love XX: I Am Not of Those

© George Meredith

I am not of those miserable males

Who sniff at vice and, daring not to snap,

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His Excuse for Loving

© Benjamin Jonson

Let it not your wonder move,


Less your laughter, that I love.

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His Wish To God

© Robert Herrick

I would to God, that mine old age might have

Before my last, but here a living grave;

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The Harvest Bow

© Seamus Justin Heaney

As you plaited the harvest bow
You implicated the mellowed silence in you
In wheat that does not rust
But brightens as it tightens twist by twist
Into a knowable corona,
A throwaway love-knot of straw.