Wish poems
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Father O'Flynn
© Graves Alfred Perceval
Of priests we can offer a charmin' variety,Far renowned for larnin' and piety;Still, I'd advance you, widout impropriety, Father O'Flynn as the flower of them all.
Thirty-Six Ways of Looking at Toronto Ontario
© Gotlieb Phyllis
##.see my house, its angled street,east, north, west, south,southeast, northwest, there areno parking placeshere
The Deserted Village, A Poem
© Oliver Goldsmith
Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain,Where health and plenty cheer'd the labouring swain,Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid,And parting summer's lingering blooms delay'd:Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease,Seats of my youth, when every sport could please,How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green,Where humble happiness endear'd each scene!How often have I paus'd on every charm,The shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm,The never-failing brook, the busy mill,The decent church that topt the neighbouring hill,The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,For talking age and whisp'ring lovers made!How often have I blest the coming day,When toil remitting lent its turn to play,And all the village train, from labour free,Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree;While many a pastime circled in the shade,The young contending as the old survey'd;And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground,And sleights of art and feats of strength went round;And still, as each repeated pleasure tir'd,Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspir'd;The dancing pair that simply sought renownBy holding out to tire each other down:The swain mistrustless of his smutted face,While secret laughter titter'd round the place;The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love,The matron's glance that would those looks reprove:These were thy charms, sweet village! sports like theseWith sweet succession, taught e'en toil to please:These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed,These were thy charms--but all these charms are fled
To Mr. Blanchard, the Celebrated Aeronaut
© Philip Morin Freneau
Nil Mortalibus ard unum lestCoelum ipsum petimus stuttistra. HORACE.
The Young Captive
© Toru Dutt
The budding shoot ripens unharmed by the scythe,Without fear of the press, on vine branches lithe, Through spring-tide the green clusters bloom
An Evening Contemplation in a College
© Duncombe John
The Curfew tolls the hour of closing gates,With jarring sound the porter turns the key,Then in his dreary mansion slumb'ring waits,And slowly, sternly quits it -- tho' for me.
Song: Phoebus Arise
© William Drummond (of Hawthornden)
Phœbus, arise,And paint the sable skiesWith azure, white, and red;Rouse Memnon's mother from her Tithon's bedThat she thy career may with roses spread;The nightingales thy coming each where sing;Make an eternal spring;Give life to this dark world which lieth dead
To Sir Henry Wotton [Here's no more news, than virtue: I may as well...]
© John Donne
Here's no more news, than virtue: I may as wellTell you Calais, or Saint Michael's tales, as tellThat vice doth here habitually dwell.
The Autumnal
© John Donne
No spring, nor summer beauty hath such graceAs I have seen in one autumnal face;Young beauties force our love, and that's a rape;This doth but counsel, yet you cannot scape
Cooper's Hill (1655)
© Sir John Denham
Sure there are poets which did never dreamUpon Parnassus, nor did taste the streamOf Helicon, we therefore may supposeThose made not poets, but the poets those
Cooper's Hill (1642)
© Sir John Denham
Sure we have poets that did never dreamUpon Parnassus, nor did taste the streamOf Helicon, and therefore I supposeThose made not poets, but the poets those
The Trinity Cake
© Burke Johnny
As I leaned o'er the rail of the Eagle, The letter boy brought unto me,A little gilt edged invitation, Saying the girls want you over to tea,Sure I know the O'Hooligans sent it, And I went, just for ould friendship sakeWhen the first thing they gave me to tackle, Was a slice of the Trinity Cake
Sonnets from the Portuguese: XXVIII
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
My letters! all dead paper, mute and white!And yet they seem alive and quiveringAgainst my tremulous hands which loose the stringAnd let them drop down on my knee to-night
To a Little Invisible Being Who is Expected Soon to Become Visible
© Anna Lætitia Barbauld
Germ of new life, whose powers expanding slowFor many a moon their full perfection wait,--Haste, precious pledge of happy love, to goAuspicious borne through life's mysterious gate.
The Seafarer
© Anonymous
Mæg ic be me sylfum soðgied wrecan, [I can utter a true tale about myself,]siþas secgan, hu ic geswincdagum [tell of my travels, how in laboursome days]earfoðhwile oft þrowade, [a time of hardship I often suffered,]bitre breostceare gebiden hæbbe, [how bitter sorrow in my breast I have borne,]gecunnad in ceole cearselda fela, [made trial on shipboard of many sorrowful abodes; ]atol yþa gewealc, þær mec oft bigeat [dread was the rolling of the waves; there my task was often]nearo nihtwaco æt nacan stefnan, [the hard night-watch at the boat's prow,]þonne he be clifum cnossað
