Truth poems

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The Net of Memory

© Cory Adela Florence Nicolson

I cast the Net of Memory,Man's torment and delight,Over the level Sands of YouthThat lay serenely bright,Their tranquil gold at times submergedIn the Spring Tides of Love's Delight.

Donne

© Hartley Coleridge

Brief was the reign of pure poetic truthA race of thinkers next, with rhymes uncouth,And fancies fashion'd in laborious brains,Made verses heavy as o'erloaded wains

Reading Titus Andronicus In Three Mile Plains, N.S.

Rue: When Witnesses sat before Bibles open like platesAnd spat sour sermons of interposition and nullification,While burr-orchards vomited bushels of thorns, and leavesRattled like uprooted skull-teeth across rough highways,And stars ejected brutal, serrated, heart-shredding light,And dark brothers lied down, quare, in government graves,Their white skulls jabbering amid farmer's dead flowers -

Ballad of a Hanged Man

© Clarke George Elliott

Geo: Their drinks to my drinks feels different,I'll stomach a stammering teaspoon full,but Roach laps up half the half bottle.He slups glass for glass with the best.

The Triumph of Love

© Govinda Krishna Chettur

Dearest, and yet more dear than I can tell In these poor halting rhymes, when, word by word, You spell the passion that your beauty stirredSwiftly to flame, and holds me as a spell,You will not think he writeth "ill" or "well", Nor question make of the fond truths averred, But Love, of that, by Love's self charactered, A perfect understanding shall impel

An Elegy upon the Death of the Dean of St. Paul's, Dr. John Donne

© Thomas Carew

Can we not force from widow'd poetry,Now thou art dead (great Donne) one elegyTo crown thy hearse? Why yet dare we not trust,Though with unkneaded dough-bak'd prose, thy dust,Such as th' unscissor'd churchman from the flowerOf fading rhetoric, short-liv'd as his hour,Dry as the sand that measures it, should layUpon thy ashes, on the funeral day?Have we no voice, no tune? Didst thou dispenseThrough all our language, both the words and sense?'Tis a sad truth

The Pleasures of Hope

© Thomas Campbell

PART I

Ordained

© Ada Cambridge

Lara: Canto the First

© George Gordon Byron

XVIIMuch to be lov'd and hated, sought and fear'd

English Bards and Scotch Reviewers

© George Gordon Byron

...

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: Canto the Third

I Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart? When last I saw thy young blue eyes they smil'd, And then we parted--not as now we part, But with a hope

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: Canto the Fourth

I A palace and a prison on each hand: I saw from out the wave her structures rise As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand: A thousand years their cloudy wings expand Around me, and a dying Glory smiles O'er the far times, when many a subject land Look'd to the winged Lion's marble piles,Where Venice sate in state, thron'd on her hundred isles!

II Rising with her tiara of proud towers At airy distance, with majestic motion, A ruler of the waters and their powers: And such she was; her daughters had their dowers From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East Pour'd in her lap all gems in sparkling showers