Famous poems

/ page 12 of 40 /

Order by :

1
. . .
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
. . .
40

Oh for the breath of the briny deep,
And the tug of the bellying sail,
With the sea-gull's cry across the sky
And a passing boatman's hail.
For, be she fierce or be she gay,
The sea is a famous friend alway.

Amais

© Robert Laurence Binyon

I
``O King Amasis, hail!
News from thy friend, the King Polycrates!
My oars have never rested on the seas

The Old Mile-Tree

© Henry Lawson

OLD coach-road West by Nor-ward

Old mile-tree by the track:

The Beautiful Land of Australia

© Anonymous

CHORUS
Currabubula, Bogolong,
Ulladulla, Gerringong.
If you wouldn't become an ourang-outang,
Don't go to the bush of Australia.

It is not seemly to be famous...

© Boris Pasternak

It is not seemly to be famous:
Celebrity does not exalt;
There is no need to hoard your writings
And to preserve them in a vault.

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt. Canto IV.

© George Gordon Byron

I.

I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs;

The Minds Games

© William Carlos Williams

If a man can say of his life or

any moment of his life, There is

The Monument Of Q.H.F.

© Franklin Pierce Adams

Look you, the monument I have erected
High as the pyramids, royal, sublime,
During as brass--it shall not be affected
E'en by the elements coupled with Time.

The Bride Of The Nile - Act I

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

Act I Governor's Palace at Alexandria.
Act II Garden House of the Makawkas at On.
Act III On the Banks of the Nile. Time, th Century, A.D.

The Haunch Of Venison

© Oliver Goldsmith

A POETICAL EPISTLE TO LORD CLARE

THANKS, my Lord, for your venison, for finer or fatter

Elegy For Whatever Had A Pattern In It

© Larry Levis

Keep your eyes on him as he lifts & swings fifty-pound boxes of late
Elberta peaches up to me where I'm standing on a flatbed trailer & breathing in
Tractor exhaust so thick it bends the air, bends things seen through it

The Second Booke Of Qvodlibets

© Robert Hayman

Epigrams are much like to Oxymell,
Hony and Vineger compounded well:
Hony, and sweet in their inuention,
Vineger in their reprehension.
As sowre, sweet Oxymell, doth purge though fleagme:
These are to purge Vice, take them as they meane.

Churchill's Grave: A Fact Literally Rendered

I stood beside the grave of him who blazed

The comet of a season, and I saw

Lost Treasure

Here--fresh from fumes of some Falstaffian bout,
When famous champions, fired by many a bet,
Had drained huge bumpers while the stars would set--
Beneath its reeling branches by the way,
Till twice twelve hours of April bloom were out--
Locked in oblivion--Shakespeare lost a day.