Pet poems

/ page 107 of 126 /

Order by :

1
. . .
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
. . .
126

Thomas Rhodes

© Edgar Lee Masters

Very well, you liberals,
And navigators into realms intellectual,
You sailors through heights imaginative,
Blown about by erratic currents, tumbling into air pockets,

In the night Reave dreamed that Helen
Lay with him in the deep grave, he awoke loathing her,
But when the weak moment between sleep and waking
Was past, his need of her and his judgment of her
Knew their suspended duel; and he heard her breathing,
Irregularly, gently in the dark.

Chords

© Madison Julius Cawein

When love delays, when love delays and Joy
Steals a strange shadow o'er the happy hills,
And Hope smiles from To-morrow, nor fulfills
One promise of To-day, thy sight would cloy
This soul with loved despair
By seeing thee so fair.

The Latest Chinese Outrage

© Francis Bret Harte

It was noon by the sun; we had finished our game,

And was passin' remarks goin' back to our claim;

Petit, The Poet

© Edgar Lee Masters

Seeds in a dry pod, tick, tick, tick,
Tick, tick, tick, like mites in a quarrel--
Faint iambics that the full breeze wakens--
But the pine tree makes a symphony thereof.

The Poet VIII

© Khalil Gibran

He is a link between this and the coming world.
He is
A pure spring from which all thirsty souls may drink.

The Dance To Death. Act IV

© Emma Lazarus

The City Hall at Nordhausen. Deputies and Burghers assembling.
To the right, at a table near the President's chair, is seated
the Public Scrivener. Enter DIETRICH VON TETTENBORN, and HENRY
SCHNETZEN with an open letter in his hand.

Self-Knowledge XVII

© Khalil Gibran

And a man said, "Speak to us of Self-Knowledge."

The Abbey Mason

© Thomas Hardy

(The church which, at an after date,
Acquired cathedral rank and state.)

To The Countess Of Bedford II

© John Donne

TO have written then, when you writ, seem'd to me

Worst of spiritual vices, simony ;

Natalias Resurrection: Sonnet XXIII

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

But, when the church was hushed in the night wind,
And all were gone who might his zeal disclaim,
Or hinder the firm purpose of his mind,
A silent man among the tombs he came,

Little Oliver

EARL JOYCE he was a kind old party
Whom nothing ever could put out,
Though eighty-two, he still was hearty,
Excepting as regarded gout.

A Petition

Lady, whom my beloved loves so well!
When on his clasping arm thy head reclineth,
When on thy lips his ardent kisses dwell,
And the bright flood of burning light that shineth

A Quarrel

After that failed intercourse she asked if something had been wrong

Mister William

OH, listen to the tale of MISTER WILLIAM, if you please,
Whom naughty, naughty judges sent away beyond the seas.
He forged a party's will, which caused anxiety and strife,
Resulting in his getting penal servitude for life.