Top Poems RSSFri, 30 Oct 2026 09:31:02 GMTOnce upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore--While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,As of some one gently rapping--rapping at my chamber door."'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-- Only this and nothing more."Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.Eagerly I wished the morrow;--vainly I had sought to borrowFrom my books surcease of sorrow--sorrow for the lost Lenore--For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-- Nameless here for evermore.And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtainThrilled me--filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door--Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-- This it is and nothing more."Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,And so faintly you came tapping--tapping at my chamber door,That I scarce was sure I heard you"--here I opened wide the door:-- Darkness there and nothing more.Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!" Merely this and nothing more.Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,Soon I heard again a tapping, somewhat louder than before."Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore--Let my heart be still a moment, and this... Read more

]]>Fri, 30 Oct 2026 09:31:02 GMTI asked no other thing,No other was denied.I offered Being for it;The mighty merchant smiled.Brazil? He twirled a button,Without a glance my way:"But, madam, is there nothing elseThat we can show to-day?"

]]>Fri, 30 Oct 2026 09:31:02 GMTShe died, -- this was the way she died;And when her breath was done,Took up her simple wardrobeAnd started for the sun.Her little figure at the gateThe angels must have spied,Since I could never find herUpon the mortal side.

]]>Fri, 30 Oct 2026 09:31:02 GMTIMMITATION OF ENGLISH POETS. COWLEYFain would my Muse the flowery treasures sing,And humble glories of the youthful Spring;Where opening roses breathing sweets diffuse,And soft carnations shower their balmy dews;Where lilies smile in virgin robes of white,The thin undress of superficial light,And varied tulips show so dazzling gay,Blushing in bright diversities of day.Each painted floweret in the lake belowSurveys its beauties, whence its beauties grow;And pale Narcissus on the bank, in vainTransformèd, gazes on himself again.Here aged trees cathedral walks compose,And mount the hill in venerable rows:There the green infants in their beds are laid,The garden's hope, and its expected shade.Here orange-trees with blooms and pendants shine,And vernal honours to their autumn join;Exceed their promise in the ripen'd store,Yet in the rising blossom promise more.There in bright drops the crystal fountains play,By laurels shielded from the piercing day:Where Daphne, now a tree, as once a maid,Still from Apollo vindicates her shade,Still turns her beauties from the invading beam,Nor seeks in vain for succour to the stream.The stream at once preserves her virgin leaves,At once a shelter from her boughs receives,Where summer's beauty midst of winter stays,And winter's coolness spite of summer's rays.

]]>Fri, 30 Oct 2026 09:32:02 GMT“ARE you ready for your steeplechase, Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorree?Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Baree.You’re booked to ride your capping race to-day at Coulterlee,You’re booked to ride Vindictive, for all the world to see,To keep him straight, and keep him first, and win the run for me.”Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Baree.She clasp’d her newborn baby, poor Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorrèe,Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Baree.“I cannot ride Vindictive, as any man might see,And I will not ride Vindictive, with this baby on my knee;He ’s kill’d a boy, he ’s kill’d a man, and why must he kill me?”“Unless you ride Vindictive, Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorree,Unless you ride Vindictive to-day at Coulterlee,And land him safe across the brook, and win the blank for me,It ’s you may keep your baby, for you ’ll get no keep from me.”“That husbands could be cruel,” said Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorrèe,“That husbands could be cruel, I have known for seasons three;But oh, to ride Vindictive while a baby cries for me,And be kill’d across a fence at last for all the world to see!”She master’d young Vindictive—O, the gallant lass was she!And kept him straight and won the race as near as near could be;But he kill’d her at the brook against a pollard willow tree;Oh! he kill’d her at the brook, the brute, for all the world to see,And no one but the baby cried for poor Lorraine, Lorree.

]]>Fri, 30 Oct 2026 09:32:02 GMTThe holly bush, a sober lump of green,Shines through the leafless shrubs all brown and grey,And smiles at winter be it eer so keenWith all the leafy luxury of May.And O it is delicious, when the dayIn winter's loaded garment keenly blowsAnd turns her back on sudden falling snows,To go where gravel pathways creep betweenArches of evergreen that scarce let throughA single feather of the driving storm;And in the bitterest day that ever blewThe walk will find some places still and warmWhere dead leaves rustle sweet and give alarmTo little birds that flirt and start away.

]]>Fri, 30 Oct 2026 09:31:02 GMTIN the gloom of whiteness,In the great silence of snow,A child was sighingAnd bitterly saying: "Oh,They have killed a white bird up there on her nest,The down is fluttering from her breast."And still it fell through that dusky brightnessOn the child crying for the bird of the snow.

]]>Fri, 30 Oct 2026 09:32:02 GMTThe moon is distant from the sea,And yet with amber handsShe leads him, docile as a boy,Along appointed sands.He never misses a degree;Obedient to her eye,He comes just so far toward the town,Just so far goes away.Oh, Signor, thine the amber hand,And mine the distant sea, --Obedient to the least commandThine eyes impose on me.

]]>Fri, 30 Oct 2026 09:32:02 GMTA toad can die of light!Death is the common rightOf toads and men, --Of earl and midgeThe privilege.Why swagger then?The gnat's supremacyIs large as thine.

]]>Fri, 30 Oct 2026 09:32:02 GMTTHE FOURTH PASTORAL, OR DAPHNE.TO THE MEMORY OF MRS TEMPEST.LYCIDAS.Thyrsis, the music of that murmuring springIs not so mournful as the strains you sing;Nor rivers winding through the vales below,So sweetly warble, or so smoothly flow.Now sleeping flocks on their soft fleeces lie,The moon, serene in glory, mounts the sky,While silent birds forget their tuneful lays,Oh sing of Daphne's fate, and Daphne's praise!THYRSIS.Behold the groves that shine with silver frost,Their beauty wither'd, and their verdure lost.Here shall I try the sweet Alexis' strain,That call'd the listening Dryads to the plain?Thames heard the numbers as he flow'd along,And bade his willows learn the moving song.LYCIDAS.So may kind rains their vital moisture yieldAnd swell the future harvest of the field.Begin; this charge the dying Daphne gave,And said, 'Ye shepherds, sing around my grave!'Sing, while beside the shaded tomb I mourn,And with fresh bays her rural shrine adorn.THYRSIS.Ye gentle Muses, leave your crystal spring,Let nymphs and sylvans cypress garlands bring;Ye weeping Loves, the stream with myrtles hide,And break your bows, as when Adonis died;And with your golden darts, now useless grown,Inscribe a verse on this relenting stone:'Let Nature change, let Heaven and Earth deplore,Fair Daphne's dead, and Love is now no more!''Tis done, and Nature's various charms decay;See gloomy clouds obscure the cheerful day!Now hung with pearls the dropping trees appear,Their faded honours scatter'd on her bier.See where, on earth, the flowery glories lie,With her they flourish'd, and with her they die.Ah, what avail the beauties Nature wore,Fair Daphne's dead, and Beauty is no more!For her the flocks refuse their verdant food,The thirsty heifers shun the gliding flood,The silver swans her hapless fate bemoan,In notes more sad than when they sing their own;In hollow caves sweet Echo silent lies,Silent, or only to her name replies;Her name with pleasure once she taught the shore;Now Daphne's dead, and... Read more

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