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A dozen poems
For todayA version friendly to printer and palmtop
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Chloris in the Snow, by William Strode
I SAW fair Chloris walk alone,
When feather'd rain came softly down,
As Jove descending from his Tower
To court her in a silver shower:
The wanton snow flew to her breast,
Early Scare, by Tom Young
Lets terrorize baby.
Make him think he's in a cradle in a tree top,
swinging in the wind.
Hanging from a brittle bough ready to break,
moments from falling to the ground,
False though She be, by William Congreve
FALSE though she be to me and love,
I'll ne'er pursue revenge;
For still the charmer I approve,
Though I deplore her change.
In hours of bliss we oft have met:
Battle Song, by Ebenezer Elliott
DAY, like our souls, is fiercely dark;
What then? 'Tis day!
We sleep no more; the cock crows--hark!
To arms! away!
They come! they come! the knell is rung
The Buried Chief, by Sir Henry Parkes
(November 6th, 1886)
With speechless lips and solemn tread
They brought the Lawyer-Statesman home:
They laid him with the gather'd dead,
Where rich and poor like brothers come.
Be still. The Hanging Gardens were a dream, by Trumbull Stickney
Be still. The Hanging Gardens were a dream
That over Persian roses flew to kiss
The curled lashes of Semiramis.
Troy never was, nor green Skamander stream.
Provence and Troubadour are merest lies,
The Passionate Shepherd to His Love, by Christopher Marlowe
COME live with me and be my Love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dales and fields,
Or woods or steepy mountain yields.
And we will sit upon the rocks,
Black Swans, by Andrew Barton Paterson (`Banjo')
As I lie at rest on a patch of clover
In the Western Park when the day is done,
I watch as the wild black swans fly over
With their phalanx turned to the sinking sun;
And I hear the clang of their leader crying
Why, by Bliss Carman
FOR a name unknown,
Whose fame unblown
Sleeps in the hills
For ever and aye;
For her who hears
Yellow Warblers, by Katharine Lee Bates
The first faint dawn was flushing up the skies
When, dreamland still bewildering mine eyes,
I looked out to the oak that, winter-long,
-- a winter wild with war and woe and wrong --
Beyond my casement had been void of song.
The Old Familiar Faces, by Charles Lamb
I HAVE had playmates, I have had companions,
In my days of childhood, in my joyful school-days--
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
I have been laughing, I have been carousing,
Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies--
...brogues...and definitely not a trumpet..., by Richard Zola
the heron in the stream
when would it have flown
if not for that sound
of a shoe breaking a stick
who's shoe
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