Change poems
/ page 8 of 246 /
Monsieur Joliat
© MacDonald Wilson Pugsley
Boston she have good hockey team; Dose Senators ess nice.But Les Canadiens ees bes' Dat ever skate de ice.
Old Friends
© Linton William James
The old old friends!Some changed; some buried; some gone out of sight;Some enemies, and in this world's swift fight No time to make amends.
Acon and Rhodope; or, Inconstancy
© Walter Savage Landor
The Year's twelve daughters had in turn gone by,Of measured pace tho' varying mien all twelve,Some froward, some sedater, some adorn'dFor festival, some reckless of attire
The Obstructionist
© Knox Edmund George Valpy
She was not built upon a beauteous plan; I did not like her face or features much,The lady who was talking to the man Behind the little hutch.
The Prisoner's Road
© Julius Stanley de Vere Alexander
There is a road where silence stalks,Where man, since his first dawn arose,Out as upon an ocean walksInto the desert, where who goesAs one of a long captive train,May share the thoughts of them that weptBy Babylonian waters, and againBow down in sorrow where they slept
London: A Poem, in Imitation of the Third Satire of Juvenal
© Samuel Johnson
Though grief and fondness in my breast rebel,
Drury-lane Prologue Spoken by Mr. Garrick at the Opening of the Theatre in Drury-Lane, 1747
© Samuel Johnson
When Learning's triumph o'er her barb'rous foesFirst rear'd the stage, immortal Shakespear rose;Each change of many-colour'd life he drew,Exhausted worlds, and then imagin'd new:Existence saw him spurn her bounded reign,And panting Time toil'd after him in vain:His pow'rful strokes presiding Truth impress'd,And unresisted Passion storm'd the breast
Flint and Feather
© Emily Pauline Johnson
Ojistoh1.2Of him whose name breathes bravery and life1.3And courage to the tribe that calls him chief.1.4I am Ojistoh, his white star, and he1.5Is land, and lake, and sky--and soul to me.
The Fossil Elephant
© Howitt Mary
The earth is old! Six thousand years, Are gone since I had birth;In the forests of the olden time, And the solitudes of earth.
Tick! Tick! Tick!
© Herschel John Frederick William
(occasioned by an "irregular ode to an old Clock", by Lady ---)
Though that Men do Call it Dotage
© Henry VIII, King of England
Though that men do call it dotage,Who loveth not wanteth courage;
Green Groweth the Holly
© Henry VIII, King of England
Green groweth the holly,So doth the ivy.Though winter blasts blow never so high,Green groweth the holly.
Emily Brontë
© Louise Imogen Guiney
What sacramental hurt that bringsThe terror of the truth of thingsHad changed thee? Secret be it yet
Caelica: Sonnet 22
© Fulke Greville
I, with whose colours Myra dress'd her head, I, that ware posies of her own hand-making,I, that mine own name in the chimneys read By Myra finely wrought ere I was waking: Must I look on, in hope time coming may With change bring back my turn again to play?
I, that on Sunday at the church-stile found A garland sweet, with true-love knots in flowers,Which I to wear about mine arm was bound, That each of us might know that all was ours: Must I now lead an idle life in wishes, And follow Cupid for his loaves and fishes?
I, that did wear the ring her mother left, I, for whose love she gloried to be blamed,I, with whose eyes her eyes committed theft, I, who did make her blush when I was named: Must I lose ring, flowers, blush, theft, and go naked, Watching with sighs till dead love be awaked?
I, that, when drowsy Argus fell asleep, Like jealousy o'erwatched with desire,Was even warned modesty to keep, While her breath, speaking, kindled Nature's fire: Must I look on a-cold, while others warm them? Do Vulcan's brothers in such fine nets arm them?
Was it for this that I might Myra see Washing the water with her beauties white?Yet would she never write her love to me
