Morning poems
/ page 19 of 310 /
Ode to Rae Wilson Esq.
© Thomas Hood
Mere verbiage,it is not worth a carrot!
Why, Socratesor Platowhere's the odds?
Once taught a jay to supplicate the Gods,
And made a Polly-theist of a Parrot!
De Snowbird
© William Henry Drummond
O leetle bird dat's come to us w'en stormy win' she's blowin',
An' ev'ry fiel' an' mountain top is cover wit' de snow,
How far from home you're flyin', noboddy's never knowin'
For spen' wit' us de winter tam, mon cher petit oiseau!
When The Storm Was Proudest
© George MacDonald
When the storm was proudest,
And the wind was loudest,
I heard the hollow caverns drinking down below;
When the stars were bright,
And the ground was white,
I heard the grasses springing underneath the snow.
The Daemon Of The World
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Nec tantum prodere vati,
Quantum scire licet. Venit aetas omnis in unam
Congeriem, miserumque premunt tot saecula pectus.
Sonnet: What Lips My Lips Have Kissed
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Heath from the Highlands
© Henry Kendall
Here, where the great hills fall away
To bays of silver sea,
I hold within my hand to-day
A wild thing, strange to me.
To Marie Louise (Shew)
© Edgar Allan Poe
Of all who hail thy presence as the morning-
Of all to whom thine absence is the night-
The Widow Of Glencoe
© William Edmondstoune Aytoun
Do not lift him from the bracken,
Leave him lying where he fell-
I Think Continually
© Stephen Spender
I think continually of those who were truly great.
Who, from the womb, remembered the soul's history
The Sleep of Sigismund
© Jean Ingelow
The doom'd king pacing all night through the windy fallow.
'Let me alone, mine enemy, let me alone,'
Never a Christian bell that dire thick gloom to hallow,
Or guide him, shelterless, succourless, thrust from his own.
Airs For The Lute
© Arthur Symons
All, that hands upon the lute
Helped the voices to declare,
Voices mute
But for this, might I not share,
If, alas, I could but suit-
Hand and voice unto the lute!
Sonnet XXVIII: From Fatal Interview
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
When we are old and these rejoicing veins
Are frosty channels to a muted stream,
The Star-Spangled Banner
© Francis Scott Key
O! say can you see, by the dawn's early light,
What so proudly we hail'd at the twilight's last gleaming,
Happiness
© Edith Wharton
THIS perfect love can find no words to say.
What words are left, still sacred for our use,
Man the Monarch
© Mary Leapor
A tattling Dame, no matter where, or who;
Me it concerns not-and it need not you;
Once told this Story to the listening Muse,
Which we, as now it serves our Turn, shall use.
This Summer Morning Mariana Has
© Eli Siegel
Mariana, with the morning so,
Walking one morning up a road near woods,
With the sun young that morning,
And the dew not long gone from grass and roses;
From The Spanish Of Pedro De Castro Y Anaya
© William Cullen Bryant
Stay, rivulet, nor haste to leave
The lovely vale that lies around thee.
Why wouldst thou be a sea at eve,
When but a fount the morning found thee?
Snow Storm
© John Clare
What a night! The wind howls, hisses, and but stops
To howl more loud, while the snow volley keeps
