Learning poems
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To the Countess of Bedford [Madam, Reason is our soul's left hand, faith her right...]
© John Donne
Madam,Reason is our soul's left hand, faith her right, By these we reach divinity, that's you;Their loves, who have the blessing of your sight, Grew from their reason, mine from fair faith grew.
Recipe
© Crosland Thomas William Hodgson
CHIDDEN still murmurs,SLAPPED and RAPPED complain,HURT, with a thousand tongues,Whines out his pain.
Love Letters
© Crosbie Lynn
I would give my husband drawings for grocery lists,with smiling faces on the eggs, and spider feetdangling everywhere
Written for my Son, and Spoken by Him in School, upon his Master's First Bringing in a Rod
© Mary Barber
OUR master, in a fatal hour,Brought in this Rod, to shew his pow'r
yes at first
© Margaret Atwood
yes at first yougo down smooth aspills, all of mebreathes you in and then it's
Anglosaxon Street
© Earle Birney
Dawndrizzle ended dampness steams fromblotching brick and blank plasterwasteFaded housepatterns hoary and finickyunfold stuttering stick like a phonograph
The Last Survivor
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
YES! the vacant chairs tell sadly we are going, going fast,
And the thought comes strangely o'er me, who will live to be the last?
When the twentieth century's sunbeams climb the far-off eastern hill,
With his ninety winters burdened, will he greet the morning still?
"Let Us Give Thanks"
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
For the courage which comes when we call,
While troubles like hailstones fall;
Vision Of Columbus - Book 8
© Joel Barlow
And now the Angel, from the trembling sight,
Veil'd the wide worldwhen sudden shades of night
Retaliation: A Poem
© Oliver Goldsmith
What pity, alas! that so lib'ral a mind
Should so long be to news-paper essays confin'd;
Who perhaps to the summit of science could soar,
Yet content 'if the table he set on a roar';
Whose talents to fill any station were fit,
Yet happy if Woodfall confess'd him a wit.
Red Ridinghood
© Guy Wetmore Carryl
The Moral: There's nothing much glummer
Than children whose talents appal.
One much prefers those that are dumber,
And as for the paragons small
If a swallow cannot make a summer.
It can bring on a summary fall!
The Convocation: A Poem
© Richard Savage
The Pagan prey on slaughter'd Wretches Fates,
The Romish fatten on the best Estates,
The British stain what Heav'n has right confest,
And Sectaries the Scriptures falsly wrest.
From 'She Stoops to Conquer' A Song
© Oliver Goldsmith
Let school-masters puzzle their brain,
With grammar, and nonsense, and learning;
A Father To His Son
© Carl Sandburg
A father sees his son nearing manhood.
What shall he tell that son?
