Title Poet Year Written Collection Body
To the unknown builder of the Cathedral of Cologne English

          Unknown great Master! whose creative thought

             Is here inscribed, though from Fame's shining scroll

          Thy name is lost, this wondrous dome is fraught

             With the expression of thy reverent soul.
...

To the venerable General Gaines English

        Though Time has silvered o'er thy honored head,

            And left some traces on thy gallant form,

        Upon thy soul no hoar-frost has he shed,

            Nor chilled the heart that yet beats true and warm.

 ...

To the Virgins Robert Herrick 1611 English

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
  Old Time is still a flying;
And this same flower that smiles to-day
  To-morrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of Heaven, the sun,
  The higher he ’s a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
  And...

To the Willow-tree Robert Herrick 1611 Love

Thou art to all lost love the best,
The only true plant found,
Wherewith young men and maids distrest,
And left of love, are crown’d.

When once the lover’s rose is dead,
Or laid aside forlorn:
Then willow-garlands ‘bout the head
Bedew’d with tears are...

To the “Sextant” Arabella M. Willson 1849 English

O Sextant of the meetin house, wich sweeps
And dusts, or is supposed to! and makes fires,
And lites the gass, and sumtimes leaves a screw loose,
in wich case it smells orful, worse than lamp ile;
And wrings the Bel and toles it when men dyes,
to the grief...

To their apartment deep

To their apartment deep

No ribaldry may creep

Untumbled this abode

By any man but God —

To this World she returned. English

To this World she returned.

But with a tinge of that —

A Compound manner,

As a Sod

Espoused a Violet,

That chiefer to the Skies

Than to himself, allied,

Dwelt hesitating, half of Dust,
...

To Thomas Moore Lord Byron English

My boat is on the shore,
  And my bark is on the sea;
But before I go, Tom Moore,
  Here ’s a double health to thee!

Here ’s a sigh to those who love me,
  And a smile to those who hate;
And, whatever sky ’s above me,
  Here ’s a heart...

To try to speak, and miss the way English

To try to speak, and miss the way

And ask it of the Tears,

Is Gratitude's sweet poverty,

The Tatters that he wears —


A better Coat if he possessed

Would help him to conceal,

Not subjugate, the...

To undertake is to achieve

To undertake is to achieve

Be Undertaking blent

With fortitude of obstacle

And toward encouragement


That fine Suspicion, Natures must

Permitted to revere

Departed Standards and the few

...

To venerate the simple days

To venerate the simple days

Which lead the seasons by,

Needs but to remember

That from you or I,

They may take the trifle

Termed mortality!

To Venetian Artists English


To Venetian Artists

...
To Victor Hugo Alfred, Lord Tennyson English

Victor in poesy! Victor in romance!
  Cloud-weaver of phantasmal hopes and fears!
  French of the French and lord of human tears!
Child-lover, bard, whose fame-lit laurels glance,
Darkening the wreaths of all that would advance
  Beyond our strait their...

To Violets Robert Herrick 1611 English

Welcome, maids of honor!
    You doe bring
    In the Spring,
And wait upon her.

She has virgins many,
    Fresh and faire;
    Yet you are
More sweet than any.

Y’ are the maiden Posies,
    And, so grac’t,
    ...

To Virgil Alfred, Lord Tennyson English

   [Written at the request of the Mantuans for the Nineteenth Centenary of Virgil’s death, B.C. 19.]

I.
ROMAN Virgil, thou that singest
    Ilion’s lofty temples robed in fire,
Ilion falling, Rome arising,
    wars, and filial faith, and Dido’s pyre;

...
To wait an Hour — is long — English

To wait an Hour — is long —

If Love be just beyond —

To wait Eternity — is short —

If Love reward the end —

To Whom the Mornings stand for Nights, English

To Whom the Mornings stand for Nights,

What must the Midnights — be!

To Youth Walter Savage Landor 1795 English

Where art thou gone, light-ankled Youth?
  With wing at either shoulder,
And smile that never left thy mouth
  Until the Hours grew colder:

Then some one seemed to whisper near
  That thou and I must part;
I doubted it; I felt no fear,
  ...

To —— Percy Bysshe Shelley 1812 English

Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory,—
Odors, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.

Rose-leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heaped for the belovèd’s bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
...

To —— (Poe, 1850)

The bowers whereat, in dreams, I see

    The wantonest singing birds,

Are lips — and all thy melody

    Of lip-begotten words —


Thine eyes, in Heaven of heart enshrined

    Then desolately fall,
...