Great Poems of the Language of Shakespeare

tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65985540428120732732011-11-27T16:20:43.474-08:00Great Poems of the Language of ShakespeareTimeless poemspoet at hearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03250976155294765365noreply@blogger.comBlogger211100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6598554042812073273.post-42991462955323642742010-01-26T12:21:00.000-08:002010-01-26T13:07:30.659-08:00The Turtle by Ogden Nash

The turtle lives 'twixt plated decksWhich practically conceal its sex.I think it clever of the turtleIn such a fix to be so fertile.

poet at hearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03250976155294765365noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6598554042812073273.post-3360929518985045912010-01-16T15:23:00.001-08:002010-01-16T15:25:27.373-08:00Eternity by William Blake

He who bends to himself a joyDoes the winged life destroy;But he who kisses the joy as it fliesLives in eternity's sunrise.

poet at hearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03250976155294765365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6598554042812073273.post-82390047600379829342010-01-15T14:20:00.000-08:002010-01-15T14:28:11.330-08:00The Soul Selects Her Own Society by Emily Dickinson

The soul selects her own societyThen shuts the door;On her divine majorityObtrude no more.Unmoved, she notes the chariot's pausingAt her low gate;Unmoved, an emperor is kneelingUpon her mat.I've known her from an ample nationChoose one;Then close the valves of her attentionLike stone.

poet at hearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03250976155294765365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6598554042812073273.post-25206727310626275752009-12-30T14:50:00.000-08:002009-12-30T15:02:39.275-08:00Auld Lang Syne by Robert Burns

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,And never brought to mind?Should auld acquaintance be forgot,And auld lang syne?Cho.- For auld lang syne, my dear,For auld lang syne,We'll tak a cup o' kindness yetFor auld lang syne!And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp,And surely I'll be mine,And we' tak a cup kindness yetFor auld lang syne!We twa hae run about the braesAnd pou'd the gowans fine,But we've

poet at hearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03250976155294765365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6598554042812073273.post-56100736933971960982009-12-29T11:02:00.000-08:002009-12-29T11:09:20.911-08:00On First Looking Into Chapman's Homer by John Keats

Much have I travelled in the realms of gold,And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;Round many western islands have I beenWhich bards in fealty to Apollo hold.Oft of one wide expanse had I been toldThat deep-browned Homer rules as his demesne;Yet did I never breathe its pure sereneTill I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold:Then felt I like some watcher of the skiesWhen a new planet swims into

poet at hearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03250976155294765365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6598554042812073273.post-85673018222118326602009-12-27T10:42:00.000-08:002009-12-27T10:49:43.646-08:00The Leaden-Eyed by Vachel Lindsay

Let not young souls be smothered out beforeThey do quaint deeds and fully flaunt their pride.It is the world's one crime its babes grow dull,Its poor are ox-like, limp and leaden-eyed.Not that they starve, but starve so dreamlessly;Not that they sow, but that they seldom reap;Not that they serve, but have no gods to serve;Not that they die, but that they die like sheep.

poet at hearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03250976155294765365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6598554042812073273.post-39625309563776761202009-12-26T22:13:00.000-08:002009-12-26T22:16:09.192-08:00Upon Julia's Clothes by Robert Herrick

Whenas in silks my Julia goes,Then, then, methinks, how sweetly flowsThe liquefaction of her clothes.Next, when I cast mine eyes, and seeThat brave vibration, each way free,O, how that glittering taketh me!

poet at hearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03250976155294765365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6598554042812073273.post-36403611199017756522009-12-26T12:07:00.000-08:002009-12-26T12:12:32.960-08:00My Heart Leaps Up by William Wordsworth

My heart leaps up when I beholdA rainbow in the sky;So was it when my life began;So is it now I am a man;So be it when I shall grow old.Or let me die!The Child is father of the Man;And I could wish my days to beBound each to each by natural piety.

poet at hearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03250976155294765365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6598554042812073273.post-28426339937004920262009-12-24T17:51:00.000-08:002009-12-24T17:54:54.968-08:00The Angel by William Blake

I asked a thief to steal me a peach;He turn'd up his eyes.I ask'd a lithe lady to lie her down:Holy and meek she cries.As soon as I went an angel came:He wink'd at the thiefAnd smil'd at the dame,And without one word spokeHas a peach from the tree,And 'twixt earnest and jokeEnjoy'd the lady.

poet at hearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03250976155294765365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6598554042812073273.post-63990607851845329142009-12-23T12:42:00.000-08:002009-12-23T12:48:36.484-08:00A Slumber Did My Spirit Seal by William Wordsworth

A slumber did my spirit seal;I had no human fears;She seemed a thing that could not feelThe touch of earthly years.No motion has she now, no force;She neither hears nor sees;Rolled round in earth's diurnal course,With rocks, and stones, and trees.

poet at hearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03250976155294765365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6598554042812073273.post-76987806415961376192009-12-23T11:23:00.000-08:002009-12-23T11:35:14.557-08:00On His Blindness by John Milton

When I consider how my light is spentEre half my days in this dark world and wide,And that one talent which is death to hideLodged with me useless, though my soul more bentTo serve therewith my Maker, and presentMy true account, lest he returning chide,"Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?"I fondly ask. But Patience, to preventThat murmur, soon replies, "God doth not needEither man's work or

poet at hearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03250976155294765365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6598554042812073273.post-30118380165396770962009-12-22T10:17:00.000-08:002009-12-22T11:04:23.813-08:00Music, When Soft Voices Die by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Music, when soft voices die,Vibrates in the memory-Odours, when sweet violets sicken,Live within the sense they quicken.Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,Are heap'd for the beloved's bed;And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,Love itself shall slumber on.

poet at hearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03250976155294765365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6598554042812073273.post-53818702986182012952009-12-22T10:06:00.000-08:002009-12-22T11:07:03.119-08:00Rose Aylmer by Walter Savage Landor

Ah what avails the sceptred race,Ah what the form divine!What every virtue, every grace!Rose Aylmer, all were thine.Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyesMay weep, but never see,A night of memories and of sightsI consecrate to thee.

poet at hearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03250976155294765365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6598554042812073273.post-81418780891222743542009-12-22T10:04:00.000-08:002009-12-22T11:08:24.179-08:00The River of Life by Thomas Campbell

The more we live, more brief appearOur life's succeeding stages:A day to childhood seems a year,And years like passing ages.The gladsome current of our youth,Ere passion yet disorders,Steals lingering like a river smoothAlong its grassy borders.But as the care-worn cheeks grows wan,And sorrow's shafts fly thicker,Ye stars, that measure life to man,Why seem your courses quicker?When joys have lost

poet at hearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03250976155294765365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6598554042812073273.post-8813800022208442612009-12-22T10:00:00.000-08:002009-12-22T11:09:47.269-08:00Jenny Kiss'd Me by Leigh Hunt

Jenny kiss'd me when we met,Jumping from the chair she sat in;Time, you thief, who love to getSweets into your list, put that in!Say I'm weary, say I'm sad,Say that health and wealth gave miss'd me,Say I'm growing old, bud add,Jenny kiss'd me.

poet at hearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03250976155294765365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6598554042812073273.post-82812278448030580762009-12-21T17:13:00.000-08:002009-12-22T11:11:59.924-08:00Song by Thomas Lovell Beddoes

How many times do I love thee, dear?Tell me how many thoughts there beIn the atmosphereOf a new-fall'n year,Whose white and sable hours appearThe latest flake of Eternity:-So many times do I love thee, dear.How many times do I love again?Tell me how many beads there areIn a silver chainOf evening rain,Unravelled from the tumbling main,And threading the eye of a yellow star:-So many times do I

poet at hearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03250976155294765365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6598554042812073273.post-29417790115215429292009-12-21T17:08:00.000-08:002009-12-22T11:13:11.494-08:00Fable by Ralph Waldo Emerson

The mountain and the squirrelHad a quarrel;And the former called the latter "Little Prig."Bun replied,"You are doubtless very big;But all sorts of things and weatherMust be taken in togetherTo make up a yearAnd a sphere.And I think it's no disgraceTo occupy my place.If I'm not so large as you,You are not so small as I,And not half so spry.I'll not deny you makeA very pretty squirrel track;

poet at hearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03250976155294765365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6598554042812073273.post-29533377899117795632009-12-21T16:50:00.000-08:002009-12-22T11:14:41.267-08:00Sweet Disorder by Robert Herrick

A sweet disorder in the dressKindles in clothes a wantonness:A lawn about the shoulders thrownInto a fine distraction-An erring lace, which here and thereEnthrals the crimson stomacher-A cuff neglectfull, and therebyRibbands to flow confusedly-A winning wave, deserving note,In the tempestuous petticoat-A carekess shoe-string, in whose tieI see a wild civility-Do more bewitch me than when artIs

poet at hearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03250976155294765365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6598554042812073273.post-63441438278918047952009-12-21T16:45:00.000-08:002009-12-22T11:02:15.879-08:00On a Girdle by Edmund Waller

That which her slender waist confined,Shall now my joyful temples bind;No monarch but would give his crown,His arms might do what this has done.It was my heaven's extremest sphere,The pale which held that lovely deer,My joy, my grief, my hope, my love,Did all within this circle move!A narrow compass! and yet thereDwelt all that's good, and all that's fair!Give me but what this ribband bound,Take

poet at hearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03250976155294765365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6598554042812073273.post-33938764477208400322009-12-21T16:42:00.000-08:002009-12-22T11:15:48.449-08:00All, All of a Piece by John Dryden

All, all of a piece throughout:Thy chase had a beast in view;Thy wars brought nothing about;Thy lovers were all untrue.'Tis well an old age is out,And time to begin a new.

poet at hearthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03250976155294765365noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6598554042812073273.post-62291737854404781362009-12-21T16:38:00.000-08:002009-12-21T16:42:33.694-08:00Welcome

This blog is dedicated to the great poems of the English Language.New poems will be added almost every day so there will be new content almost daily.Also feel free to contact me with suggestions.

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