Violence poems

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The Eutawville Lynching

© Lizelia Augusta Jenkins Moorer

In the State of "Old Palmetto," from the town of Eutawville,
Comes a voice of pain and anguish that refuses to be still.
'Tis a voice that cries for vengeance for the wrongs it has received,
Yea, it asks a nation's conscience, When will justice be achieved?

The Morning Of The Day Appointed For A General Thanksgiving. January 18, 1816

© William Wordsworth

I
HAIL, orient Conqueror of gloomy Night!
Thou that canst shed the bliss of gratitude
On hearts howe'er insensible or rude;

Marsupial Bill

© James Brunton Stephens

A CHRISTMAS STORY.

1

The Glory Of The Heavens

© Emile Verhaeren

Shining in dim transparence, the whole of infinity lies
Behind the veil that the finger of radiant winter weaves
And down on us falls the foliage of stars in glittering sheaves;
From out the depths of the forest, the forest obscure of the skies,

Paradise Lost : Book IX.

© John Milton

No more of talk where God or Angel guest

With Man, as with his friend, familiar us'd,

The Drunken Father

© Robert Bloomfield

Poor Ellen married Andrew Hall,
Who dwells beside the moor,
Where yonder rose-tree shades the wall,
And woodbines grace the door.

The Two Dreams

© Algernon Charles Swinburne

I WILL that if I say a heavy thing

Your tongues forgive me; seeing ye know that spring

Ginevra

© Percy Bysshe Shelley

THE DIRGE.
Old winter was gone
In his weakness back to the mountains hoar,
And the spring came down
From the planet that hovers upon the shore

Sleep

© Bravig Imbs

I

slowly the ponderous doors of lead imponderous

A Last Confession

© Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Our Lombard country-girls along the coast

Wear daggers in their garters: for they know

The Wonder-Working Magician - Act III

© Denis Florence MacCarthy

DEMON. Why, how is this, that using your free-will
More than my precept meant,
Say for what end, what object, what intent,
Through ignorance or boldness can it be,
You thus come forth the sun's bright face to see?

Hellenistics

© Robinson Jeffers

I look at the Greek-derived design that nourished my infancy
this Wedgwood copy of the Portland vase:
Someone had given it to my father my eyes at five years old
used to devour it by the hour.

The Ring And The Book - Chapter XII - The Book And The Ring

HERE were the end, had anything an end:

Thus, lit and launched, up and up roared and soared

Paradise Regain'd : Book III.

© John Milton

So spake the Son of God; and Satan stood
A while as mute, confounded what to say,
What to reply, confuted and convinced
Of his weak arguing and fallacious drift;