Sad poems
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Columbus
© James Russell Lowell
One poor day!--
Remember whose and not how short it is!
It is God's day, it is Columbus's.
A lavish day! One day, with life and heart,
Is more than time enough to find a world.
The Tempest
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
Come, teasing wind, we will fly,
Seek our heart's desire, you and I;
What Makes Summer?
© George MacDonald
Winter froze both brook and well;
Fast and fast the snowflakes fell;
A Rhapsody
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Oh fly not, Pleasure, pleasant--hearted Pleasure.
Fold me thy wings, I prithee, yet and stay.
For my heart no measure
Knows nor other treasure
To buy a garland for my love to--day.
Tale V
© George Crabbe
these,
All that on idle, ardent spirits seize;
Robbers at land and pirates on the main,
Enchanters foil'd, spells broken, giants slain;
Legends of love, with tales of halls and bowers,
Choice of rare songs, and garlands of choice
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!
The Angels' Song. Honour To Jesus.
© Thomas Hoccleve
Honured be thu, blisful lord Ihesu, and preysed mote thu be in eueri place,So full of myght, [of] mercy and vertue,Of blisse, of bounte, of piete and of grace!Who is honurë, may no thing deface; Who is [ther] that withstondë may thi myght?But servë the, of fors mote eueri wight.
Honúred be thu, Ihesu, heven kyng, That hast be-taken to my gouernaunce Suche one that hath, a-bove al othire thing,Abowed to the with lowely obeysaunce,And loued the with sadde perséueraunce, Thi counseil and thin hey comaundëmentObseruyng with his hertely hool entent.
Love From The North
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
I had a love in soft south land,
Beloved through April far in May;
He waited on my lightest breath,
And never dared to say me nay.
Edward
© Caroline Norton
HEAVY is my trembling heart, mine own love, my dearest,
Heavy as the hearts whose love is poured in vain;
All the bright day I watch till thou appearest,
All the long night I dream of thee again.
The Two Children Pt 1
© Emily Jane Brontë
Heavy hangs the rain-drop
From the burdened spray;
Heavy broods the damp mist
On uplands far away.
Wasps In A Garden
© Charles Lamb
The wall-trees are laden with fruit;
The grape, and the plum, and the pear,
The peach and the nectarine, to suit
Every taste, in abundance are there.
How Salvator Won
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
The gate was thrown open, I rode out alone,
More proud than a monarch who sits on a throne.
I am but a jockey, yet shout upon shout
Went up from the people who watched me ride out;
And the cheers that rang forth from that warm-hearted crowd,
Were as earnest as those to which monarch e'er bowed.
The Fallen Elm
© Alfred Austin
The popinjay screamed from tree to tree,
Then was lost in the burnished leaves;
The sky was as blue as a southern sea,
And the swallow came back to the eaves.
The Sensitive Plant
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
PART 1.
A Sensitive Plant in a garden grew,
And the young winds fed it with silver dew,
And it opened its fan-like leaves to the light.
And closed them beneath the kisses of Night.
Prologue For A Modern Painter
© Arthur Symons
Hear the hymn of the body of man:
This is how the world began;
In these tangles of mighty flesh
The stuff of the earth is moulded afresh.
Of The Three Seekers
© William Morris
Whither away to seek good cheer?
Ah me! said the third, that my love were anear!
Were the world as little as it is wide,
In a happy house should ye abide.
Were the world as kind as it is hard,
Ye should behold a fair reward.
Hadramauti
© Rudyard Kipling
So it is not in the Desert. One came to me weeping
The Avenger of Blood on his trackI took him in keeping.
Demanding not whom he had slain, I refreshed him, I fed him
As he were even a brother. But Eblis had bred him.
The Melancholy Year Is Dead with Rain
© Trumbull Stickney
The melancholy year is dead with rain.
Drop after drop on every branch pursues.
Song of the Guitar.
© Bai Juyi
In the tenth year of Yuanhe I was banished and demoted to be assistant official in Jiujiang. In the summer of the next year I was seeing a friend leave Penpu and heard in the midnight from a neighbouring boat a guitar played in the manner of the capital. Upon inquiry, I found that the player had formerly been a dancing-girl there and in her maturity had been married to a merchant. I invited her to my boat to have her play for us. She told me her story, heyday and then unhappiness. Since my departure from the capital I had not felt sad; but that night, after I left her, I began to realize my banishment. And I wrote this long poem - six hundred and twelve characters.
I was bidding a guest farewell, at night on the Xunyang River,
The Fate of the Explorers (A Fragment)
© Henry Kendall
Through that night he uttered little, rambling were the words he spoke:
And he turned and died in silence, when the tardy morning broke.
Many memories come together whilst in sight of death we dwell,
Much of sweet and sad reflection through the weary mind must well.
As those long hours glided past him, till the east with light was fraught,
Who may know the mournful secret who can tell us what he thought?
