Good poems

/ page 10 of 545 /

Order by :

1
. . .
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
. . .
545

Shakespeare's Sonnets: Your love and pity doth th'impression fill

© William Shakespeare

Your love and pity doth th'impression fillWhich vulgar scandal stampt upon my brow,For what care I who calls me well or illSo you o'er-green my bad, my good allow?You are my all-the-world, and I must striveTo know my shames and praises from your tongue,None else to me, nor I to none alive,That my steel'd sense o'er-changes right or wrong

Dream Song 21: Some good people, daring and subtle voices

© John Berryman

Some good people, daring & subtle voices
and their tense faces, as I think of it
I see sank underground.
I see. My radar digs. I do not dig.
Cool their flushing blood, them eyes is shutâ€”
eyes?

Shakespeare's Sonnets: Two loves I have of comfort and despair

© William Shakespeare

Two loves I have of comfort and despairWhich like two spirits do suggest me still:The better angel is a man right fair;The worser spirit a woman colour'd ill

Shakespeare's Sonnets: Tir'd with all these for restful death I cry

© William Shakespeare

Tir'd with all these, for restful death I cry,As to behold desert a begger born,And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity,And purest faith unhappily forsworn,And gilded honour shamefully misplac't,And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,And right perfection wrongfully disgrac'd,And strength by limping sway disablèd,And art made tongue-tied by authority,And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill,And simple-truth miscall'd simplicity,And captive-good attending captain-ill

Dream Song 119: Fresh-shaven, past months and a picture in New York

© John Berryman

Fresh-shaven, past months & a picture in New York
of Beard Two, I did have Three took off. Well. .
Shadow & act, shadow & act,
Better get white or you' get whacked,
or keep so-called black
& raise new hell.

Shakespeare's Sonnets: Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art

© William Shakespeare

Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art,As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel,For well thou know'st to my dear doting heartThou art the fairest and most precious jewel

Dream Song 11: His mother goes. The mother comes and goes

© John Berryman

His mother goes. The mother comes & goes.
Chen Lung's too came, came and crampt & then
that dragoner's mother was gone.
It seem we don't have no good bed to lie on,
forever. While he drawing his first breath,
while skinning his knees,

Shakespeare's Sonnets: That thou are blam'd shall not be thy defect

© William Shakespeare

That thou are blam'd shall not be thy defect,For slander's mark was ever yet the fair,The ornament of beauty is suspect,A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air

Shakespeare's Sonnets: Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness

© William Shakespeare

Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness,Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport:Both grace and faults are lov'd of more and less

Shakespeare's Sonnets: O never say that I was false of heart

© William Shakespeare

O never say that I was false of heart,Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify

Shakespeare's Sonnets: O how I faint when I of you do write

O how I faint when I of you do write,Knowing a better spirit doth use your name,And in the praise thereof spends all his mightTo make me tongue-tied speaking of your fame

Shakespeare's Sonnets: Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck

Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck,And yet me thinks I have astronomy,But not to tell of good, or evil luck,Of plagues, of dearths, or season's quality,Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind,Or say with princes if it shall go wellBy oft predict that I in heaven find

Shakespeare's Sonnets: My tongue-tied muse in manners holds her still

My tongue-tied muse in manners holds her stillWhile comments of your praise, richly compil'd,Reserve their character with golden quillAnd precious phrase by all the muses fil'd

Shakespeare's Sonnets: Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath stell'd

Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath stell'dThy beauty's form in table of my heart,My body is the frame wherein 'tis held,And perspective it is best painter's art,For through the painter must you see his skill,To find where your true image pictur'd lies,Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still,That hath his windows glazèd with thine eyes:Now see what good-turns eyes for eyes have done,Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for meAre windows to my breast, where-through the sunDelights to peep, to gaze therein on thee

1
. . .
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
. . .
545