English Poems – Page 79

More English Poems

• The Conqueror Worm

  Lo! ’t is a gala night
  Within the lonesome latter years.
  An angel throng, bewinged, bedight …

  Edgar Allan Poe

• The Bells

  I
  hear the sledges with the bells,
  Silver bells! …

  Edgar Allan Poe

• Faith

  My faith looks up to Thee,
  Thou Lamb of Calvary,
  Saviour divine! …

  Ray Palmer

• Old Ironsides

  Ay, tear her tattered ensign down!
  Long has it waved on high,
  And many an eye has danced to see …

  Oliver Wendell Holmes

• The Last Leaf

  I saw him once before,
  As he passed by the door,
  And again …

  Oliver Wendell Holmes

• The Height of the Ridiculous

  I wrote some lines once on a time
  In wondrous merry mood,
  And thought, as usual, men would say …

  Oliver Wendell Holmes

• La Grisette

  Ah, clemence! when I saw thee last
  Trip down the Rue de Seine,
  And turning, when thy form had past, …

  Oliver Wendell Holmes

• On Lending a Punch-Bowl

  This ancient silver bowl of mine, it tells of good old times,
  Of joyous days and jolly nights, and merry Christmas chimes;
  They were a free and jovial race, but honest, brave, and true, …

  Oliver Wendell Holmes

• After a Lecture on Keats

  The wreath that star-crowned Shelley gave
  Is lying on thy Roman grave,
  Yet on its turf young April sets …

  Oliver Wendell Holmes

• The Voiceless

  We count the broken lyres that rest
  Where the sweet wailing singers slumber,
  But o’er their silent sister’s breast …

  Oliver Wendell Holmes

• The Living Temple

  Not in the world of light alone,
  Where God has built his blazing throne,
  Nor yet alone in earth below, …

  Oliver Wendell Holmes

• The Chambered Nautilus

  This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign,
  Sails the unshadowed main,—
  The venturous bark that flings …

  Oliver Wendell Holmes

• Bill and Joe

  Come, dear old comrade, you and I
  Will steal an hour from days gone by,
  The shining days when life was new, …

  Oliver Wendell Holmes

• Under the Violets

  Her hands are cold; her face is white;
  No more her pulses come and go;
  Her eyes are shut to life and light;— …

  Oliver Wendell Holmes

• Hymn of Trust

  O love Divine, that stooped to share
  Our sharpest pang, our bitterest tear,
  On Thee we cast each earth-born care, …

  Oliver Wendell Holmes

• Epilogue to the Breakfast Table Series

  A crazy bookcase, placed before
  A low-price dealer’s open door;
  Therein arrayed in broken rows …

  Oliver Wendell Holmes

• Dorothy Q - by Oliver Wendell Holmes

  Grandmother’s mother: her age, I guess,
  Thirteen summers, or something less;
  Girlish bust, but womanly air; …

• Cacoethes Scribendi

  If all the trees in all the woods were men;
  And each and every blade of grass a pen;
  If every leaf on every shrub and tree …

  Oliver Wendell Holmes

• The Strong Heroic Line

  Friends of the Muse, to you of right belong
  The first staid footsteps of my square-toed song;
  Full well I know the strong heroic line …

  Oliver Wendell Holmes

• From "The Iron Gate"

  As on the gauzy wings of fancy flying
  From some far orb I track our watery sphere,
  Home of the struggling, suffering, doubting, dying, …

  Oliver Wendell Holmes

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