Wish poems
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The Man Who Couldn't Save
© Edgar Albert Guest
He spent what he made, or he gave it away,
Tried to save money, and would for a day,
Why I Loved You
© Thomas Moore
The world has just begun to steal
Each hope that led me lightly on;
I felt not, as I used to feel,
And life grew dark and love was gone.
The World In The Heart
© Jane Taylor
The charms of mental converse some may fear,
Who scruple not to lend a ready ear
To kitchen tales, of scandal, strife, and love,
Which make the maid and mistress hand and glove ;
And ever deem the sin and danger less,
Merely for being in a vulgar dress.
The Borough. Letter VIII: Trades
© George Crabbe
share -
'Tis small: we boast not these rich subjects here,
Who hazard thrice ten thousand pounds a-year;
We've no huge buildings, where incessant noise
Is made by springs and spindles, girls and boys;
Where, 'mid such thundering sounds, the maiden's
Alma; or, The Progress of the Mind. In Three Cantos. - Canto III.
© Matthew Prior
Ideas, farms, and intellects,
Have furnish'd out three different sects.
Substance or accident divides
All Europe into adverse sides.
My Birthday
© Charles Lamb
A dozen years since in this house what commotion,
What bustle, what stir, and what joyful ado;
Every soul in the family at my devotion,
When into the world I came twelve years ago.
In Memoriam
© William Lisle Bowles
How blessed with thee the path could I have trod
Of quiet life, above cold want's hard fate,
The Hamadryad
© Walter Savage Landor
Her lips were seald; her head sank on his breast.
T is said that laughs were heard within the wood:
But who should hear them? and whose laughs? and why?
The Tale Of A Pony
© Francis Bret Harte
Name of my heroine, simply "Rose;"
Surname, tolerable only in prose;
Ode Written In The Beginning Of The Year 1746
© William Taylor Collins
How sleep the brave, who sink to rest,
By all their country's wishes blest!
Angered Reason
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Angered Reason walked with me
A street so squat, unshapen, bald,
So blear--windowed and grimy--walled,
So dismal--doored, it seemed to be
Naucratia; Or Naval Dominion. Part II.
© Henry James Pye
Yet midst the scene of dread, when certain fate
Rides on the tempest in terrific state,
Bold in the face of death the naval train
Exert their force, and brave the insulting main;
Though rising horrors on their efforts lower,
And the deaf whirlwind mock their useless power.
The Bumps And Bruises Doctor
© Edgar Albert Guest
I'm the bumps and bruises doctor;
I'm the expert that they seek
A' Old Played-Out Song
© James Whitcomb Riley
It's the curiousest thing in creation,
Whenever I hear that old song,
Viva Perpetua
© Archibald Lampman
The night is passing. In a few short hours
I too shall suffer for the name of Christ.
A boundless exaltation lifts my soul!
I know that they who left us, Saturus,
Perpetua, and the other blessed ones,
Await me at the opening gates of heaven.
Hymns to the Night : 1
© Novalis
Before all the wondrous shows of the widespread space around him, what living, sentient thing loves not the all-joyous light - with its colors, its rays and undulations, its gentle omnipresence in the form of the wakening Day? The giant-world of the unresting constellations inhales it as the innermost soul of life, and floats dancing in its blue flood - the sparkling, ever-tranquil stone, the thoughtful, imbibing plant, and the wild, burning multiform beast inhales it - but more than all, the lordly stranger with the sense-filled eyes, the swaying walk, and the sweetly closed, melodious lips. Like a king over earthly nature, it rouses every force to countless transformations, binds and unbinds innumerable alliances, hangs its heavenly form around every earthly substance. - Its presence alone reveals the marvelous splendor of the kingdoms of the world.
Aside I turn to the holy, unspeakable, mysterious Night. Afar lies the world - sunk in a deep grave - waste and lonely is its place. In the chords of the bosom blows a deep sadness. I am ready to sink away in drops of dew, and mingle with the ashes. - The distances of memory, the wishes of youth, the dreams of childhood, the brief joys and vain hopes of a whole long life, arise in gray garments, like an evening vapor after the sunset. In other regions the light has pitched its joyous tents. What if it should never return to its children, who wait for it with the faith of innocence?
Bear Song (From The Danish Of Evald)
© George Borrow
The squirrel thats sporting
Amid the green leaves,
