Cool poems
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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
Endymion
© John Keats
BOOK IIts loveliness increases; it will neverPass into nothingness; but still will keepA bower quiet for us, and a sleepFull of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing
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 Wayfarer
© Hyde Robin
The wounds of the world are good wounds, got in a hardy fight --Therefore 'tis best to welcome or pilgrim or knightWho limping comes on his quest, forspent or betrayed,Whose breast is an aching thrust; and who will not be stayed
The Last Gift
© Hyde Robin
I have taken so much of your beauty, oh deep kind Earth,Face on your soft old face, heart on your warm heart lying --Scent of rain in leaves and the small stream's bubble of mirth,Hush of the sad-eyed pool that is dark with night-birds' crying,
Stars drowned deep in the lake, sunset's flame in a pine,Secret clutching fingers of baby ferns, close-curled --These are a stain of scent from a cool old perfumed wineThat sleeps in a carven chalice blue-glazed in the dawn of the world
Hanmer Woods
© Hyde Robin
Autumn will walk there, with a breath of stardust,With the burnt brown fronds of bracken in her hair;Autumn will come with the frost on briar berries,And clean blue mornings, and smoke-hazed air.
The Beadle's Annual Address
© Thomas Hood
The Curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,The ploughman homeward plods his weary way And this is Christmas Eve, and here I be!
Before Action
© Hodgson William Noel
By all the glories of the day,And the cool evening's benison:By the last sunset touch that layUpon the hills when day was done:By beauty lavishly outpoured,And blessings carelessly received,By all the days that I have lived,Make me a soldier, Lord
A Mid-summer Noon in the Australian Forest
© Charles Harpur
Not a bird disturbs the air,There is quiet everywhere;Over plains and over woods.What a mighty stillness broods.
The Song of an Exile
© William Hamilton
I have seen the Cliffs of Dover And the White Horse on the Hill; I have walked the lanes, a rover; I have dreamed beside the rill: I have known the fields awaking To the gentle touch of Spring; The joy of morning breaking, And the peace your twilights bring
Thirty-Six Ways of Looking at Toronto Ontario
© Gotlieb Phyllis
##.see my house, its angled street,east, north, west, south,southeast, northwest, there areno parking placeshere
Ordinary, Moving
© Gotlieb Phyllis
is the name of the gamelaughing, talking where the ball bouncesin the forgotten schoolyardone hand, the other hand; one foot, the other footyou know the one(Saturday Afternoon Kidblackball-cracker, scotchmint-muncherhandkerchief-chewer extraordinary)clap front, clap backballthwack on the boardfencefront and back, back and frontarms of old beeches reaching over drop theirsawtooth leaves in your hair (as I was sitting beneath a tree a birdie sent his love to me and as I wiped it from my eye I thought: thank goodness cows can't fly)tweedle, twydlecurtsey, saluteand roundaboutuntil you're out
the shadows turn, the light is longand while you're out you sing this song
this year, next year, sometime, never en roule-en ma boule roule-en we'll be friends for ever and ever
Pimperroquet, le roi des papillons se faisant la barbe, il se coupa le menton une, une, c'est la lune deux, deux, c'est le jeuseven, eight trois, trois -- c'est à toi!nine, a-lauraten a-laura echod, shtaimSecord hamelech bashomayim echod, shtaim, sholosh, ar-ba
Ye Wearie Wayfarer Hys Ballad. Fytte I. By Wood and Wold
© Adam Lindsay Gordon
Beneath the greenwood bough. -- W. Scott.
The Deserted Village, A Poem
© Oliver Goldsmith
Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain,Where health and plenty cheer'd the labouring swain,Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid,And parting summer's lingering blooms delay'd:Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease,Seats of my youth, when every sport could please,How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green,Where humble happiness endear'd each scene!How often have I paus'd on every charm,The shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm,The never-failing brook, the busy mill,The decent church that topt the neighbouring hill,The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,For talking age and whisp'ring lovers made!How often have I blest the coming day,When toil remitting lent its turn to play,And all the village train, from labour free,Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree;While many a pastime circled in the shade,The young contending as the old survey'd;And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground,And sleights of art and feats of strength went round;And still, as each repeated pleasure tir'd,Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspir'd;The dancing pair that simply sought renownBy holding out to tire each other down:The swain mistrustless of his smutted face,While secret laughter titter'd round the place;The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love,The matron's glance that would those looks reprove:These were thy charms, sweet village! sports like theseWith sweet succession, taught e'en toil to please:These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed,These were thy charms--but all these charms are fled
Similar Cases
© Gilman Charlotte Anna Perkins
There was once a little animal, No bigger than a fox,And on five toes he scampered Over Tertiary rocks
The Tree
© Anne Finch - Countess of Winchilsea
Fair tree! for thy delightful shade'Tis just that some return be made;Sure some return is due from meTo thy cool shadows, and to thee
Magwere, Who Waits Wondering
© Fairbridge Kingsley
INear the edge of the big swamp where cane rats live,Grew Magwere the mealie.
