Business poems
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Song Of The Manes
© John Kenyon
Come, dance we now in friendly band;
The Manes twinkling Hesperus calls;
The Gossips
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
And the dark, handsome Bee, with his cloak o'er his shoulder,
Came swift through the sunlight and kissed the sad Rose,
And whispered: "My darling, I've roved the world over,
And you are the loveliest flower that grows."
Poems For Piraye (9 To 10 OClock Poems)
© Nazim Hikmet
Remembering you is good
in prison
amid the news
of victory and death
as my fortieth year passes...
The Passion Of Our Lady
© Charles Péguy
For the past three days she had been wandering, and following.
She followed the people.
The Swarm
© Sylvia Plath
Somebody is shooting at something in our town -
A dull pom, pom in the Sunday street.
Jealousy can open the blood,
It can make black roses.
Who are the shooting at?
Brussels
© Arthur Rimbaud
Boulevard du Régent
July Flowerbeds of amaranths right up to
The pleasant palace of Jupiter. -
I know it is Thou, who is this place,
Minglest thine almost Saharan Blue !
I Ain't Dead Yet
© Edgar Albert Guest
Time was I used to worry and I'd sit around an' sigh,
And think with every ache I got that I was goin' to die,
The Borough. Letter XVI: Inhabitants Of The Alms-House. Benlow
© George Crabbe
SEE! yonder badgeman with that glowing face,
A meteor shining in this sober place!
The Cap And Bells; Or, The Jealousies: A Faery Tale -- Unfinished
© John Keats
I.
In midmost Ind, beside Hydaspes cool,
The Heroic Enthusiasts - Part The Second =First Dialogue.=
© Giordano Bruno
MAR. We know that you are not a theologian but a philosopher, and that
you treat of philosophy and not of theology.
I Was A Bustlemaker Once, Girls
© Patrick Barrington
When I was a lad of twenty and was working in High Street, Ken.,
I made quite a pile in a very little while - I was a bustle maker then.
Billy Barlow in Australia
© Anonymous
When I was at home I was down on my luck,
And I earned a poor living by drawing a truck;
But old aunt died, and left me a thousand - "Oh, oh,
I'll start on my travels," said Billy Barlow.
Oh dear, lackaday, oh,
So off to Australia came Billy Barlow.
Conversation
© William Cowper
Though nature weigh our talents, and dispense
To every man his modicum of sense,
A War Wedding
© John Jay Chapman
THE dreamy earth is flooded o'er
With warm and hazy light,
September's latest boon, before
She feels the hoar frost in the night;
And, pausing with a sober frown,
Nips the first floweret from her summer crown.
Pippa Passes: Part II: Noon
© Robert Browning
You by me,
And I by you; this is your hand in mine,
And side by side we sit: all's true. Thank God!
I have spoken: speak you!
The Factory Girl
© John Arthur Phillips
She wasn't the least bit pretty,
And only the least bit gay;
The Roman: A Dramatic Poem
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
SCENE I.
A Plain in Italy-an ancient Battle-field. Time, Evening.
Persons.-Vittorio Santo, a Missionary of Freedom. He has gone out, disguised as a Monk, to preach the Unity of Italy, the Overthrow of Austrian Domination, and the Restoration of a great Roman Republic.--A number of Youths and Maidens, singing as they dance. 'The Monk' is musing.
Enter Dancers.
A Letter To Monsieur Boileau Despreaux, Occasioned By The Victory At Blenheim
© Matthew Prior
Since hired for life, thy servile Muse must sing
Successive conquests and a glorious King;
There Is Still Splendour
© Robert Laurence Binyon
O when will life taste clean again? For the air
Is fouled: the world sees, hears; and each day brings
Vile fume that would corrupt eternal things,
Were they corruptible. Harsh trumpets blare
The Man of Sentiment
© Kenneth Slessor
Part One
[A walled garden of York. It is an August Sunday, and the baying of deep church-bells is blown faintly in a warm wind. Laurence Sterne, prebendary, aged forty-six, and Catherine de Fromantel, a girl who sings at Ranelagh, are dawdling through the arbours, and pause at a path which runs between hedges and cypress-trees round a corner some fifty yards away. Catherine has walked down such a path before, it is to be feared, and halts cautiously upon its fringes.]
Laurence:
Nay, 'tis no Devil's walk,
