With arms and legs at work and gentle stroke That urges switching tail nor mends his pace, On an old ribbed and weather beaten horse, The farmer goes jogtrotting to the fair.

Universal

John Clare

102 words

Poetry

Spring Quiet

Gone were but the Winter, Come were but the Spring, I would go to a covert Where the birds sing; Where in the whitethorn Singeth a thrush, And a robin sings In the holly-bush.

Part of the Ninth Ode of the Fourth Book.

Lest you should think that verse shall die, Which sounds the silver Thames along, Taught, on the wings of truth to fly Above the reach of vulgar song; Though daring Milton sits sublime, In Spenser, native Muses play; Nor yet...

Sonnet 72: O! lest the world should task you to recite

lest the world should task you to recite What merit lived in me, that you should love After my death,--dear love, forget me quite, For you in me can nothing worthy prove; Unless you would devise some virtuous lie, To...

The Moon was but a Chin of Gold

The Moon was but a Chin of Gold A Night or two ago -- And now she turns Her perfect Face Upon the World below...

House or Window Flies

These little window dwellers, in cottages and halls, were always entertaining to me; after dancing in the window all day from sunrise to sunset they would sip of the tea, drink of the beer, and eat of the sugar, and be welcome all summer long.

Sonnet 107: Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul

Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul Of the wide world dreaming on things to come, Can yet the lease of my true love control, Supposed as forfeit to a confin'd doom.

Churchill's Grave, a Fact Literally Rendered

I stood beside the grave of him who blazed The Comet of a season, and I saw The humblest of all sepulchres, and gazed With not the less of sorrow and of awe On that neglected turf and quiet stone,...

Universal

George Gordon, Lord Byron

311 words

Poetry

To What Serves Mortal Beauty?

To what serves mortal beauty '—dangerous; does set danc- ing blood—the O-seal-that-so ' feature, flung prouder form Than Purcell tune lets tread to?

Universal

Gerard Manley Hopkins

144 words

Poetry

Easter

MOST glorious Lord of Lyfe!

The Sailor-Boy

Tis three years and a quarter since I left my own fireside To go aboard a ship through love, and plough the ocean wide. I crossed my native fields, where the scarlet poppies grew, And the groundlark left his nest...

Sonnet 85: My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still

My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still, While comments of your praise richly compil'd, Reserve their character with golden quill, And precious phrase by all the Muses fil'd.

To the Nile

Month after month the gathered rains descend Drenching yon secret Aethiopian dells, And from the desert's ice-girt pinnacles Where Frost and Heat in strange embraces blend On Atlas, fields of moist snow half depend.

Farewell to the Muse

Thou Power! who hast ruled me through Infancy's days, Young offspring of Fancy, 'tis time we should part; Then rise on the gale this the last of my lays, The coldest effusion which springs from my heart.

Universal

George Gordon, Lord Byron

364 words

Poetry

Sonnet 141: In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes

In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes, For they in thee a thousand errors note; But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise, Who, in despite of view, is pleased to dote.

Written After Swimming From Sestos to Abydos

If, in the month of dark December, Leander, who was nightly wont (What maid will not the tale remember?) To cross thy stream, broad Hellespont! If, when the wintry tempest roared, He sped to Hero, nothing loth, And thus of...

Universal

George Gordon, Lord Byron

132 words

Poetry

Translation From Vittorelli. on a Nun

Sonnet composed in the name of a father, whose daughter had recently died shortly after her marriage; and addressed to the father of her who had lately taken the veil.

Universal

George Gordon, Lord Byron

158 words

Poetry

Sonnet 44 - Beloved, thou hast brought me many flowers

Beloved, thou hast brought me many flowers Plucked in the garden, all the summer through And winter, and it seemed as if they grew In this close room, nor missed the sun and showers.

Universal

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

108 words

Poetry

The Passion

I Ere-while of Musick, and Ethereal mirth, Wherwith the stage of Ayr and Earth did ring, And joyous news of heav'nly Infants birth, My muse with Angels did divide to sing; But headlong joy is ever on the wing, In...

In Hilly-Wood

How sweet to be thus nestling deep in boughs, Upon an ashen stoven pillowing me; Faintly are heard the ploughmen at their ploughs, But not an eye can find its way to see.

Universal

John Clare

112 words