Poem Lake | The Greatest Poems of All Time

The Witch's Whelp Along the shore the slimy brine-pits yawn, Covered with thick green scum; the billows rise, And fill them to the brim with clouded foam, And then subside, and leave the scum again. The ribbed sand is full of hollow gulfs, Where monsters from the waters... Poet: Richard Henry Stoddard	Melodies and Catches Songs how are songs begot and bred? How do golden measures flow? From the heart, or from the head? Happy Poet, let me know. Tell me first how folded flowers Bud and bloom in vernal bowers; How the south wind... Poet: Richard Henry Stoddard	The Flight of Youth There are gains for all our losses, There are balms for all our pain: But when youth, the dream, departs, It takes something from our hearts, And it never comes again. We are stronger, and are better, Under manhood’s sterner reign: ... Poet: Richard Henry Stoddard	Oriental Songs The divan a LITTLE maid of Astrakan, An idol on a silk divan; She sits so still, and never speaks, She holds a cup of mine; ’T is full of wine, and on her cheeks Are stains and smears of wine. Thou little girl of Astrakan, ... Poet: Richard Henry Stoddard
The Lover It is dark and lonesome here, Beneath the windy eaves:— The cold, cold ground my bed, My coverlet dead leaves, My only bedfellow The rain that wets my sleeves! If it be day, or night, I know not, cannot say, For I am like... Poet: Richard Henry Stoddard	Abraham Lincoln Not as when some great Captain falls In battle, where his Country calls, Beyond the struggling lines That push his dread designs To doom, by some stray ball struck dead: Or, in the last charge, at the head Of his determined men,... Poet: Richard Henry Stoddard	Adsum The angel came by night (Such angels still come down), And like a winter cloud Passed over London town; Along its lonesome streets, Where Want had ceased to weep, Until it reached a house Where a great man lay asleep; The... Poet: Richard Henry Stoddard	An Old Song Reversed “there are gains for all our losses.” So I said when I was young. If I sang that song again, ’T would not be with that refrain, Which but suits an idle tongue. Youth has gone, and hope gone with it, Gone the strong desire for frame.... Poet: Richard Henry Stoddard
Mors et Vita “under the roots of the roses, Down in the dark, rich mould, The dust of my dear one reposes Like a spark which night incloses When the ashes of day are cold.” “Under the awful wings Which brood over land and sea, And whose... Poet: Richard Henry Stoddard	A Gazelle Last night, when my tired eyes were shut with sleep, I saw the one I love, and heard her speak,— Heard, in the listening watches of the night, The sweet words melting from her sweeter lips: But what she said, or seemed to say, to me I have forgotten,... Poet: Richard Henry Stoddard