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A dozen poems
For todayA version friendly to printer and palmtop
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His Pilgrimage, by Sir Walter Raleigh
GIVE me my scallop-shell of quiet,
My staff of faith to walk upon,
My scrip of joy, immortal diet,
My bottle of salvation,
My gown of glory, hope's true gage;
Haiku, by Michael Rehling
crucified
on a cold gray sky
a single bird
The Silent Tide, by David MacDonald Ross
I heard Old Ocean raise her voice and cry,
In that still hour between the night and day;
I saw the answering tides, green robed and gray,
Turn to her with a low contented sigh;
Marching with silent feet they passed me by,
At Cape Schanck, by James Lister Cuthbertson
Down to the lighthouse pillar
The rolling woodland comes,
Gay with the gold of she-oaks
And the green of the stunted gums,
With the silver-grey of honeysuckle,
A Song of Two Wanderers, by Marguerite Wilkinson
Dear, when I went with you
To where the town ends,
Simple things that Christ loved --
They were our friends;
Tree shade and grass blade
The Ride to the Lady, by Helen Gray Cone
"Now since mine even is come at last, --
For I have been the sport of steel,
And hot life ebbeth from me fast,
And I in saddle roll and reel, --
Come bind me, bind me on my steed!
The Old Familiar Faces, by Charles Lamb
I HAVE had playmates, I have had companions,
In my days of cs/183.html>Complete Poem
Song Written at Sea, in the First Dutch War (1665), the night before an Engagement., by Charles Sackville, Earl of Dorset
TO all you ladies now at land
We men at sea indite;
But first would have you understand
How hard it is to write:
The Muses now, and Neptune too,
Meet We no Angels, Pansie?, by Thomas Ashe
CAME, on a Sabbath noon, my sweet,
In white, to find her lover;
The grass grew proud beneath her feet,
The green elm-leaves above her:--
Meet we no angels, Pansie?
Praise of Women, by Robert Mannyng of Brunne
NO thyng ys to man so dere
As wommanys love in gode manere.
A gode womman is mannys blys,
There her love right and stedfast ys.
There ys no solas under hevene
My Childhood Home I See Again, by Abraham Lincoln
I
My childhood's home I see again,
And sadden with the view;
And still, as memory crowds my brain,
There's pleasure in it too.
Aurora, by William Alexander Earl of Stirling
O HAPPY Tithon! if thou know'st thy hap,
And valuest thy wealth, as I my want,
Then need'st thou not--which ah! I grieve to grant--
Repine at Jove, lull'd in his leman's lap:
That golden shower in which he did repose--
Love Missed, by George Jerone Jefferson
sometime love is front of us and we still miss it
I saw you turn away
As my eyes
Held your eyes
For a moment
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