Scholar And The Carpenter (Jean Ingelow Poems)
While ripening corn grew thick and deep,And here and there men stood to reap,One morn I put my heart to ...
Poems about water-springs (12 Poems)
The Prophecy Of St. Oran: Part II (Mathilde Blind Poems)
I.THERE was a windless mere, on whose smooth breastA little island, flushed with purple bloom,Lay gently cradled like a moorhen's ...
Of The Nature Of Things: Book I – Part 02 – Substance Is Eternal (Lucretius Poems)
This terror, then, this darkness of the mind,Not sunrise with its flaring spokes of light,Nor glittering arrows of morning can ...
Songs of the Voices of Birds: A Poet in his Youth, and the Cuckoo-Bird (Jean Ingelow Poems)
Once upon a time, I layFast asleep at dawn of day;Windows open to the south,Fancy pouting her sweet mouthTo my ...
Eclogue 1: Meliboeus Tityrus (Publius Vergilius Maro Poems)
MELIBOEUSYou, Tityrus, 'neath a broad beech-canopyReclining, on the slender oat rehearseYour silvan ditties: I from my sweet fields,And home's familiar ...
Ecologue I (Virgil Poems)
MELIBOEUS, TITYRUSMeliboeus.You, Tityrus, 'neath a broad beech-canopyReclining, on the slender oat rehearseYour silvan ditties: I from my sweet fields,And home's ...
Flower of Youth (Katharine Tynan Poems)
LEST Heaven be thronged with grey-beards hoary, God, who made boys for His delight,Stoops in a day of grief and glory And ...
Flowers Of The Dust (John Oxenham Poems)
The Mills of God grind slowly, but they grind exceeding small--So soft and slow the great wheels go they scarcely ...
Laudabunt Alii (Archibald Ernest Currie Poems)
There are some that long for a limpid lake by a blue Italian shore, Or a palm-grove out where the ...
Violets (Dinah Maria Mulock Craik Poems)
SENT IN A LITTLE BOX.LET them lie, yes, let them lie, They'll be dead to-morrow: Lift the lid up quietly ...
Sonnet. “I hear a voice low in the sunset woods” (Frances Anne Kemble Poems)
I hear a voice low in the sunset woods; Listen, it says: "Decay, decay, decay." I hear it ...
Santa Decca (Oscar Wilde Poems)
The Gods are dead: no longer do we bring To grey-eyed Pallas crowns of olive-leaves! Demeter's child no more hath ...