Morning poems
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101. Song-Composed in Spring
© Robert Burns
AGAIN rejoicing Nature sees
Her robe assume its vernal hues:
Her leafy locks wave in the breeze,
All freshly steep’d in morning dews.
Hero
© Williams Ian
the hero winsbecause that's what heros do when you spendthe money to buy the DVD of a movie you alreadyknow the ending to, not because you’ve seen it beforebut because you heard from a colleague in HRthat it would make you feel real good after,it was the best thing she’s seen lately, and that’swith her being married and every morning pushing spoonsinto the faces of her two children
so you watch itknowing the only thing that will make you feel goodthis evening is seeing a bare-chested man wail on anotherin a ring and another in a street and another in a ringin slow-mo and the dff dff sounds of the gloves strikingbodies in movies, which don’t sound like bodies for real,not that you’d admit to knowing that,
and the herodoesn’t even look like heroes in the real worldwhich are not the heroes in grade four essays eitherbut like (stay with me) this one time you dropped by a woman’s placeand you were sitting at her kitchen table and she asked youif you wanted anything to drink and she opened the fridgeand you saw through the crack between her bodyand the door only a pitcher of water on the wire shelfin the yellow light—
you want to call her a herobecause she’s surviving with her mouth shutor yourself because you’re so affected must meanyou’re noble
He will tell me later the story of the woman he has been alluding to all day
© Williams Ian
because it takes three hours and gives him the blues badso not now, not now, later, he promises, then falls asleepon my couch, shrugging his upper lip like a horse
The Little White Hearse
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Somebody's baby was buried to-day -- The empty white hearse from the grave rumbled back,And the morning somehow seemed less smiling and gay As I paused on the walk while it crossed on its way,And a shadow seemed drawn o'er the sun's golden track
An Order Prescribed, by Is. W., to two of her Younger Sisters Serving in London
© Isabella Whitney
Good sisters mine, when I shall further from you dwell,Peruse these lines, observe the rules which in the same I tell
Oh Mother of a Mighty Race
© William Cullen Bryant
OH mother of a mighty race
Yet lovely in thy youthful grace!
The elder dames thy haughty peers
Admire and hate thy blooming years.
With words of shame 5
And taunts of scorn they join thy name.
Market day
© Webb Mary
Who'll walk the fields with us to town,In an old coat and a faded gown?We take our roots and country sweetsWhere high walls shade the steep old streets,And golden bells and silver chimesRing up and down the sleepy times
Man Frail and God Eternal
© Isaac Watts
Our God, our help in ages past, Our hope for years to come,Our shelter from the stormy blast, And our eternal home.
Aunt Chloe
© Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
1.1I remember, well remember,1.2 That dark and dreadful day,1.3When they whispered to me, "Chloe,1.4 Your children's sold away!"
Parting At Morning
© Robert Browning
Round the cape of a sudden came the sea,
And the sun looked over the mountain's rim:
And straight was a path of gold for him,
And the need of a world of men for me.
Millie MacGill
© Turner Charles (Tennyson)
I watch'd thy merry gambols on the sand,And ask'd thy name beside the morning sea;Sweet came thine answer, with thy little handUpon the spade, and thy blue eyes on me,Millie Macgill
Locksley Hall Sixty Years After
© Alfred Tennyson
Late, my grandson! half the morning have I paced these sandy tracts,Watch'd again the hollow ridges roaring into cataracts,
In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII: 6
© Alfred Tennyson
One writes, that "Other friends remain," That "Loss is common to the race"-- And common is the commonplace,And vacant chaff well meant for grain.
In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII: 131
© Alfred Tennyson
O living will that shalt endure When all that seems shall suffer shock, Rise in the spiritual rock,Flow thro' our deeds and make them pure,
In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII [all 133 poems]
© Alfred Tennyson
[Preface] Whom we, that have not seen thy face, By faith, and faith alone, embrace,Believing where we cannot prove;
Battle of Brunanburh
© Alfred Tennyson
Constantinus, King of the Scots, after having sworn allegiance to Athelstan, allied himself with the Danes of Ireland under Anlaf, and invading England, was defeated by Athelstan and his brother Edmund with great slaughter at Brunanburh in the year 937
The Gardener 85
© Rabindranath Tagore
Who are you, reader, reading my poems an hundred years hence?I cannot send you one single flower from this wealth of the spring, one single streak of gold from yonder clouds
