Work poems
/ page 28 of 355 /
Au Salon
© Ezra Pound
Her grave, sweet haughtiness
Pleaseth me, and in like wise
Her quiet ironies.
Others are beautiful, none more, some less.
Sonnet XIV. Addressed To The Same (Haydon)
© John Keats
Great spirits now on earth are sojourning;
He of the cloud, the cataract, the lake,
Whatever Is--Is Best
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
I know as my life grows older,
And mine eyes have clearer sight,
Elegy I
© Rainer Maria Rilke
Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels'
hierarchies? and even if one of them suddenly
How John Quit The Farm
© James Whitcomb Riley
Nobody on the old farm here but Mother, me and John,
Except, of course, the extry he'p when harvest-time come on--
And then, I want to say to you, we _needed_ he'p about,
As you'd admit, ef you'd a-seen the way the crops turned out!
Marvellous Martin
© Charles Harpur
Who sees him walk the street, can scarce forbear
To question thus his friend, What prig goes there?
The Fate of the Explorers (A Fragment)
© Henry Kendall
Through that night he uttered little, rambling were the words he spoke:
And he turned and died in silence, when the tardy morning broke.
Many memories come together whilst in sight of death we dwell,
Much of sweet and sad reflection through the weary mind must well.
As those long hours glided past him, till the east with light was fraught,
Who may know the mournful secret who can tell us what he thought?
The Old Sexton
© William Henry Drummond
I know very well t'was purty hard case
If dere 's not on de worl' some beeger place
Dan village of Cote St. Paul,
But we got mebbe sixty-five house or more
Wit' de blacksmit' shop an' two fine store
Not to speak of de church an' de city hall.
Reflections Of King Hezekiah, In His Sickness
© Hannah More
"Set thine house in order, for thou shalt die." - Isaiah xxxviii.
What! and no more? - Is this, my soul, said I,
Night
© Boris Pasternak
The night proceeds and dwindling
Prepares the day's rebirth.
An airman is ascending
Above the sleeping earth.
Harvests
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Other harvests there are than those that lie
Glowing and ripe neath an autumn sky,
Awaiting the sickle keen,
Harvests more precious than golden grain,
Waving oer hillside, valley or plain,
Than fruits mid their leafy screen.
Song V
© Mikolaj Sep Szarzynski
To Thee, eternal Defender of all creation,
I call, frail, commiserate, nowhere secure.
Keep me in close watch, and in my each anxiety,
Hasten to bring aid to my wretched soul.
Aurora Leigh: Book Fourth
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
She, at that,
Looked blindly in his face, as when one looks
Through driving autumn-rains to find the sky.
He went on speaking.
Finis
© Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
Give me a few more hours to pass
With the mellow flower of the elm-bough falling,
And then no more than the lonely grass
And the birds calling.
On The Capture Of Fugitive Slaves Near Washington
© James Russell Lowell
Look on who will in apathy, and stifle they who can,
The sympathies, the hopes, the words, that make man truly man;
Let those whose hearts are dungeoned up with interest or with ease
Consent to hear with quiet pulse of loathsome deeds like these!
