Time poems
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Will and Testament
© Isabella Whitney
The Aucthour (though loth to leave the Citie)vpon her Friendes procurement, is constrainedto departe: wherfore (she fayneth as she would die)and maketh her WYLL and Testæment, as foloweth:With large Legacies of such Goods and richeswhich she moste aboundantly hath left behind her:and therof maketh LONDON sole executor to seher Legacies performed
To her Sister Mistress A. B.
© Isabella Whitney
Because I to my brethern wrote and to my sisters two:Good sister Anne, you this might wote, if so I should not doTo you, or ere I parted hence,You vainly had bestowed expence.
I. W. To her Unconstant Lover
© Isabella Whitney
As close as you your wedding kept, yet now the truth I hear,Which you (ere now) might me have told -- what need you nay to swear?
The Admonition by the Author to all Young Gentlewomen: And to all other Maids being in Love
© Isabella Whitney
Ye Virgins, ye from Cupid's tents do bear away the foil,Whose hearts as yet with raging love most painfully do boil.
America
© Whitfield James Monroe
America , it is to thee,Thou boasted land of liberty, --It is to thee I raise my song,Thou land of blood, and crime, and wrong
On the Dark, Still, Dry Warm Weather, Occasionally Happening in the Winter Months
© Gilbert White
To Thomas Pennant, Esquire. ... equidem credo, quia sit divinitus illis Ingenium. Virg., Georg.
The Planting of the Apple-Tree
© William Cullen Bryant
COME let us plant the apple-tree.
Cleave the tough greensward with the spade;
From The Devil's Law-case ("All the flowers of the spring")
© John Webster
All the flowers of the springMeet to perfume our burying;These have but their growing prime,And man does flourish but his time
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!"
The Study of a Spider
© Warren John Byrne Leicester
From holy flower to holy flowerThou weavest thine unhallowed bower
Creation
© Warr Bertram
All the hours and hours and hours,All the days and days and daysThat the song within me bides its timeIn the caves of the eloquent ways.
Albion's England
© William Warner
The Brutons thus departed hence, seven kingdoms here begun,--Where diversely in divers broils the Saxons lost and won,--King Edel and king Adelbright in Diria jointly reign;In loyal concord during life these kingly friends remain
Upon His Majesty’s Repairing of Paul’s
© Edmund Waller
Scarce suffer'd more upon Melita's shore,Than did his Temple in the sea of Time(Our Nation's Glory, and our Nation's Crime)When the first Monarch of this happy Isle,Mov'd with the ruin of so brave a pile,This work of cost and piety begunTo be accomplish'd by his glorious Son:Who all that came within the ample thoughtOf his wise Sire, has to perfection brought
The Long and the Short of It
© Venright Steve
The good news is that Jesus has returned.The bad news is that he's brought his family.The result is that nothing will ever be the same again (not that it ever was).
To A Greek Girl On The Seashore
© Turner Charles (Tennyson)
There are no heathen gods to play the rogueWith wandering maidens, as in olden time;Whose wild Olympian hearts were all agogTo choose their victim, and inflict their crime:Thou hast been gathering flowers, a fragrant store,But no grim Dis has seiz'd thee for his bride;And though thou rovest on this houseless shoreNo horned Zeus betrays thee to the tide
The Gold-Crested Wren
© Turner Charles (Tennyson)
When my hand closed upon thee, worn and spentWith idly dashing on the window-pane,Or clinging to the cornice -- I, that meantAt once to free thee, could not but detain;I dropt my pen, I left th' unfinished lay,To give thee back to freedom; but I took --Oh, charm of sweet occasion! -- one brief lookAt thy bright eyes and innocent dismay;Then forth I sent thee on thy homeward quest,My lesson learnt -- thy beauty got by heart:And if, at times, my sonnet-muse would restShort of her topmost skill, her little best,The memory of thy delicate gold crestShall plead for one last touch, -- the crown of Art
The Cricket
© Frederick Goddard Tuckerman
The humming bee purrs softly o'er his flower, From lawn and thicketThe dogday locust singeth in the sun, From hour to hour;Each has his bard, and thou, ere day be done Shalt have no wrong;So bright that murmur mid the insect crowdMuffled and lost in bottom grass, or loud By pale and picket:Shall I not take to help me in my song A little cooing cricket?
The afternoon is sleepy!, let us lieBeneath these branches, whilst the burdened brookMuttering and moaning to himself goes by,And mark our minstrel's carol, whilst we lookToward the faint horizon, swooning-blue
