English Poems – Page 64

More English Poems

• Who Loves the Rain

  who loves the rain
  And loves his home,
  And looks on life with quiet eyes, …

  Frances Shaw

• The Harp of the Wind

  My house stands high—
  Where the harp of the wind
  Plays all day, …

  Frances Shaw

• The Ragpicker

  The ragpicker sits and sorts her rags:
  Silk and homespun and threads of gold
  She plucks to pieces and marks with tags; …

  Frances Shaw

• Cologne Cathedral

  The little white prayers
  Of Elspeth Fry
  Float up the arches …

  Frances Shaw

• Star Thought

  I shall see a star tonight
  From a distant mountain height;
  From a city you will see …

  Frances Shaw

• The Child's Quest

  My mother twines me roses wet with dew;
  Oft have I sought the garden through and through;
  I cannot find the tree whereon …

  Frances Shaw

• Little Pagan Rain Song

  In the dark and peace of my final bed,
  The wet grass waving above my head,
  At rest from love, at rest from pain, …

  Frances Shaw

• Songs of the Coast-Dwellers - The Chief's Prayer after the Salmon Catch

  O kia-kunÆ, praise!
  Thou hast opened thy hand among the stars,
  And sprinkled the sea with food; …

  Constance Lindsay Skinner

• Songs of the Coast-Dwellers - Song of Whip-Plaiting

  In the dawn I gathered cedar-boughs
  For the plaiting of thy whip.
  They were wet with sweet drops; …

  Constance Lindsay Skinner

• Songs of the Coast-Dwellers - No Answer is Given

  I am Ah-woa-te, the Hunter.
  I met a maiden in the shadow of the rocks;
  Her eyes were strange and clear, …

  Constance Lindsay Skinner

• What Tomas An Buile said in a Pub

  I saw God. Do you doubt it?
  Do you dare to doubt it?
  I saw the Almighty Man. His hand …

  James Stephens

• Bessie Bobtail

  As down the street she wambled slow,
  She had not got a place to go:
  She had not got a place to fall …

  James Stephens

• Hate

  My enemy came high,
  And I
  Stared fiercely in his face. …

  James Stephens

• The Waste Places

  I
  as a naked man I go
  Through the desert sore afraid, …

  James Stephens

• Hawks

  And as we walked the grass was faintly stirred;
  We did not speak—there was no need to speak.
  Above our heads there flew a little bird, …

  James Stephens

• Dark Wings

  Sing while you may, O bird upon the tree!
  Although on high, wide-winged above the day,
  Chill evening broadens to immensity, …

  James Stephens

• A Legend of the Dove

  soft from the linden’s bough,
  Unmoved against the tranquil afternoon,
  Eve’s dove laments her now: …

  George Sterling

• Kindred

  Musing, between the sunset and the dark,
  As Twilight in unhesitating hands
  Bore from the faint horizon’s underlands, …

  George Sterling

• Omnia Exeunt in Mysterium

  The stranger in my gates—lo! that am I,
  And what my land of birth I do not know,
  Nor yet the hidden land to which I go. …

  George Sterling

• The Last Days

  The russet leaves of the sycamore
  Lie at last on the valley floor—
  By the autumn wind swept to and fro …

  George Sterling

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