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A dozen poems
For May 24, 2013A version friendly to printer and palmtop
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Fifty Years Spent, by Maxwell Struthers Burt
Fifty years spent before I found me,
Wind on my mouth and the taste of the rain,
Where the great hills circled and swept around me
And the torrents leapt to the mist-drenched plain;
Ah, it was long this coming of me
Free, by Geneva Hankerson
The eagle flies free in the sky
The coyote runs free in the woods
Oh! Brothers & Sisters
That was our life, free, with the winds
Free to do what we pleased,
The Plough, a Landscape in Berkshire, by Richard Henry Horne
ABOVE yon sombre swell of land
Thou see'st the dawn's grave orange hue,
With one pale streak like yellow sand,
And over that a vein of blue.
The air is cold above the woods;
Against Indifference, by Charles Webbe
MORE love or more disdain I crave;
Sweet, be not still indifferent:
O send me quickly to my grave,
Or else afford me more content!
Or love or hate me more or less,
Ode To the Pious Memory of the accomplished young lady, Mrs. Anne Killigrew, excellent in the two sister arts of Poesy and Painting, by John Dryden
THOU youngest virgin-daughter of the skies,
Made in the last promotion of the blest;
Whose palms, new pluck'd from Paradise,
In spreading branches more sublimely rise,
Rich with immortal green above the rest:
Mother, by Theresa Helburn
I have praised many loved ones in my song,
And yet I stand
Before her shrine, to whom all things belong,
With empty hand.
Perhaps the ripening future holds a time
Virtue, by George Herbert
SWEET day, so cool, so calm, so bright!
The bridal of the earth and sky--
The dew shall weep thy fall to-night;
For thou must die.
Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave
The Fairies, by William Allingham
UP the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren't go a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
To a New York Shop-Girl dressed for Sunday, by Anna Hempstead Branch
To-day I saw the shop-girl go
Down gay Broadway to meet her beau.
Conspicuous, splendid, conscious, sweet,
She spread abroad and took the street.
And all that niceness would forbid,
The Blessed Damozel, by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
THE blessed Damozel lean'd out
From the gold bar of Heaven:
Her blue grave eyes were deeper much
Than a deep water, even.
She had three lilies in her hand,
The Dead at Clonmacnois, by T. W. Rolleston
From the Irish of Angus O'Gillam
IN a quiet water'd land, a land of roses,
Stands Saint Kieran's city fair;
And the warriors of Erin in their famous generations
Slumber there.
Neighbor's Flowers, by William Marr
a week ago our neighbor Eddie passed away
this morning I saw the potted flowers on their patio
all drooped and withered
his wife Helen who loves flowers so much
must not have heard the weather report
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