Power poems
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Satyr I. A Letter To A Friend. On Poets.
© Thomas Parnell
Poets are bound by ye severest rules,
the great ones must be mad, ye little all are fools,
Then And Now
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
A little time agone, a few brief years,
And there was peace within our beauteous borders;
Peace, and a prosperous people, and no fears
Of war and its disorders.
Pleasure was ruling goddess of our land; with her attendant Mirth
She led a jubilant, joy-seeking band about the riant earth.
Septuagesima Sunday
© John Keble
There is a book, who runs may read,
Which heavenly truth imparts,
And all the lore its scholars need,
Pure eyes and Christian hearts.
The Bridal
© Robert Laurence Binyon
When we said ``I am thine'' and ``I am thine,''
We were as children crying a delight
Their hearts indeed divine
But cannot understand
The Pariah - Legend
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
WATER-FETCHING goes the noble
Brahmin's wife, so pure and lovely;
The Death of Abraham Lincoln
© William Cullen Bryant
Oh, slow to smit and swift to spare,
Gentle and merciful and just!
Who, in the fear of God, didst bear
The sword of power, a nation's trust!
Sonnet IX
© Fernando António Nogueira Pessoa
Oh to be idle loving idleness!
But I am idle all in hate of me;
Dedication
© Caroline Norton
ONCE more, my harp! once more, although I thought
Never to wake thy silent strings again,
A wandering dream thy gentle chords have wrought,
And my sad heart, which long hath dwelt in pain,
Soars, like a wild bird from a cypress bough,
Into the poet's Heaven, and leaves dull grief below!
Lines On The Death Of Bismarck
© John Jay Chapman
Thought cannot grasp the Cause: 'tis in the abyss
With Nature's secrets. But, gigantic wreck,
Thou wast the Instrument! And thy huge limbs
Cover nine kingdoms as thou lie'st asleep.
The Two Glasses
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
There sat two glasses, filled to the brim,
On a rich man's table, rim to rim.
One was ruddy and red as blood,
And one was clear as the crystal flood.
Pharsalia - Book IV: Caesar In Spain. War In The Adriatic Sea. Death Of Curio.
© Marcus Annaeus Lucanus
Should mix with ours, the vanquished. Destiny
Has run for us its course: one boon I beg;
Bid not the conquered conquer in thy train."
To My Venerable Friend, The President Of The Royal Academy
© Washington Allston
From one unused in pomp of words to raise
A courtly monument of empty praise,
To ---, Written At Venice
© Richard Monckton Milnes
Not only through the golden haze
Of indistinct surprise,
With which the Ocean--bride displays
Her pomp to stranger eyes;--
A Choice
© Edith Nesbit
THE flood of utter change is loosed. A space
Is ours yet, for its coming to prepare.
To My Lord Buckhurst, Very Young, Playing With A Cat
© Matthew Prior
The amorous youth, whose tender breast
Was by his darling Cat possest,
The Singing Of The Magnificat
© Edith Nesbit
IN midst of wide green pasture-lands, cut through
By lines of alders bordering deep-banked streams,
Where bulrushes and yellow iris grew,
And rest and peace, and all the flowers of dreams,
The Abbey stood--so still, it seemed a part
Of the marsh-country's almost pulseless heart.
