Category Poets

And crowns to be our meed Are very near us.

The goblets all are broken,The pleasant wine is spilt,The songs cease. If thou wilt,Listen, and hear truth spoken.We take thought for the morrow,And know not we shall see it ;We look on death with sorrow,And cannot flee it.Youth passes like…

A garden in a garden: a green spotWhere all is green: most fitting slumber-placeFor the strong man grown weary of a raceSoon over. Unto him a goodly lotHath fallen in fertile ground ; there thorns are not,But his own daisies;…

Some ladies dress in muslin full and white,Some gentlemen in cloth succinct and black;Some patronize a dog-cart, some a hack,Some think a painted clarence only right.Youth is not always such a pleasing sight,Witness a man with tassels on his back;Or…

I fancy the good fairies dressed in white,Glancing like moonbeams through the shadows black;Without much work to do for king or hack.Training perhaps some twisted branch aright;Or sweeping faded autumn-leaves from sightTo foster embryo life; or binding backStray tendrils; or…

Would that I were a turnip white,Or raven black,Or miserable hackDragging a cab from left to right ;Or would I were the showman of a sight,Or weary donkey with a laden back,Or racer in a sack,Or freezing traveller on an…

“Listen, the last stroke of death’s noon has struck—The plague is come,” a gnashing Madman said,And laid him down straightway upon his bed.His writhed hands did at the linen pluck;Then all is over. With a careless chuckAmong his fellows he…

Metinks the ills of life I fain would shun;But then I must shun life, which is a blank.Even in my childhood oft my spirit sank,Thinking of all that had still to be done.Among my many friends there is not oneLike…

And is this August weather? Nay, not so.With the long rain the cornfield waxeth dark.How the cold rain comes pouring down ! and harkTo the chill wind whose measured pace and slowSeems still to linger, being loth to go.I cannot…

Ah welladay and wherefore am I here?I sit alone all day, I sit and think—I watch the sun arise, I watch it sink,And feel no soul-light, though the day is clear.Surely it is a folly, it is mereMadness, to stand…