Future poems

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Ode On The Sailing Of Our Troops For France

© John Jay Chapman

Go fight for Freedom, Warriors of the West!
At last the word is spoken: Go!
Lay on for Liberty. 'Twas at her breast
The tyrant aimed his blow;
And ye were wounded with the rest
In Belgium's overthrow.

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The Columbiad: Book IX

© Joel Barlow

Shrouded in deeper darkness now he veers
The vast gyration of a thousand years,
Strikes out each lamp that would illume his way,
Disputes his food with every beast of prey;
Imbands his force to fence his trist abodes,
A wretched robber with his feudal codes.

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I approach and I withdraw

© Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz

(Español)
 Me acerco y me retiro:
¿quién sino yo hallar puedo
a la ausencia en los ojos
la presencia en lo lejos?

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The Fairy Of The Fountains

© Letitia Elizabeth Landon

And a youthful warrior stands
Gazing not upon those bands,
Not upon the lovely scene,
But upon its lovelier queen,
Who with gentle word and smile
Courteous prays his stay awhile.

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A Letter Written From London To Mrs. Strangeways Hornet

© Mary Barber

O Pow'r supreme! yet, yet, Hortensia spare;
The Stranger, and the Wretched, are her Care:
Snatch her not hence; we cannot let her go;
Still let her be thy Substitute below,
To raise the sinking Heart, to heal Distress;
To Her was giv'n the Will and Pow'r to bless.

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Paradise Lost : Book VI.

© John Milton


All night the dreadless Angel, unpursued,

Through Heaven's wide champain held his way; till Morn,

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Thoughts on Predestination and Reprobation : Part III.

© John Byrom

Whereas, this Reprobation Doctrine, here,

Not only Sense and Reason would cashier;

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To A Young Lady, Who Was Fond Of Fortune-Telling

© Matthew Prior

You, Madam, may, with safety go

Decrees of destiny to know;

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Outre Mer

© Henry Kendall

I see, as one in dreaming,

A broad, bright, quiet sea;

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On Pressing Some Flowers

© Henry Timrod

So, they are dead!  Love! when they passed
From thee to me, our fingers met;
O withered darlings of the May!
I feel those fairy fingers yet.

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The Loves of the Angels

© Thomas Moore

Alas! that Passion should profane
Even then the morning of the earth!
That, sadder still, the fatal stain
Should fall on hearts of heavenly birth-
And that from Woman's love should fall
So dark a stain, most sad of all!

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Columbus

© James Russell Lowell

  One poor day!--
Remember whose and not how short it is!
It is God's day, it is Columbus's.
A lavish day! One day, with life and heart,
Is more than time enough to find a world.

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Dear Savior Of A Dying World

© Anna Laetitia Waring

“The Lord is risen.”

Dear Savior of a dying world,

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The Eighth Olympic Ode Of Pindar

© Henry James Pye

To Alcimedon, on his Olympic Victory; Timosthenes, on his Nemean Victory; and Melesias, their Preceptor. ARGUMENT. Though this is called an Olympic Ode, the Poet does not confine himself to Alcimedon, who won the Prize in those Games, but celebrates his Brother Timosthenes, for his success at Nemea, and Melesias, their Instructor. The Ode opens with an invocation to the place where the Games were held. Pindar then, after praising Timosthenes for his early victory in the Nemean Games, mentions Alcimedon, and extols him for his dexterity and strength, his beauty, and his country Ægina; which he celebrates for it's hospitality, and for it's being under the government of the Dorians after the death of Æacus; on whom he has a long digression, giving an account of his assisting the Gods in the building of Troy. Then returning to his subject, he mentions Melesias as skilled himself in the Athletic Exercises, and therefore proper to instruct others; and, enumerating his Triumphs, congratulates him on the success of his Pupil Alcimedon; which, he says, will not only give satisfaction to his living Relations, but will delight the Ghosts of those deceased. The Poet then concludes with a wish for the prosperity of him and his family.

STROPHE I.

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To Dr. Sherlock, On His Practical Discourse Concerning Death

© Matthew Prior

Forgive the muse who, in unhallow'd strains,

The saint one moment from his God detains;

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Tale V

© George Crabbe

these,
All that on idle, ardent spirits seize;
Robbers at land and pirates on the main,
Enchanters foil'd, spells broken, giants slain;
Legends of love, with tales of halls and bowers,
Choice of rare songs, and garlands of choice

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Nightmare

© Conrad Aiken

I sit before the gold-embroidered curtain
And think her face is like a wrinkled desert.
The crystal burns in lamplight beneath my eyes.
A dragon slowly coils on the scaly curtain.
Upon a scarlet cloth a white skull lies.

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Otherside

© Henry Lawson

SOMEWHERE in the mystic future, on the road to Paradise,
There’s a very pleasant country that I’ve dreamed of once or twice,
It has inland towns, and cities by the ocean’s rocky shelves,
But the people of the country differ somewhat from ourselves;
It is many leagues beyond us, and they call it Otherside.
And there is among its people more Humanity than Pride.

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The Hand In The Dark

© Ada Cambridge

How calm the spangled city spread below!
How cool the night! How fair the starry skies!
How sweet the dewy breezes! But I know
What, under all their seeming beauty, lies.

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The Princess (part 6)

© Alfred Tennyson

My dream had never died or lived again.
As in some mystic middle state I lay;
Seeing I saw not, hearing not I heard:
Though, if I saw not, yet they told me all
So often that I speak as having seen.