Poem Lake | The Greatest Poems of All Time

The Heart's Summer The cold blast at the casement beats; The window-panes are white; The snow whirls through the empty streets; It is a dreary night! Sit down, old friend, the wine-cups wait; Fill to o’erflowing, fill! Though winter howleth at the gate,... Poet: Epes Sargent	A Summer Night I feel the breath of the summer night, Aromatic fire: The trees, the vines, the flowers are astir With tender desire. The white moths flutter about the lamp, Enamoured with light; And a thousand creatures softly sing A... Poet: Elizabeth Stoddard	Farewell to Summer Summer is fading; the broad leaves that grew So freshly green, when June was young, are falling; And, all the whisper-haunted forest through, The restless birds in saddened tones are calling, From rustling hazel copse and tangled dell, “Farewell... Poet: George Arnold	Indian Summer No more the battle or the chase The phantom tribes pursue, But each in its accustomed place The Autumn hails anew: And still from solemn councils set On every hill and plain, The smoke of many a calumet Ascends to heaven again. Poet: John Banister Tabb
A Summer Sanctuary I found a yellow flower in the grass, A tiny flower with petals like a bell, And yet, methought, more than a flower it was,— More like a miracle. Above, the sky was clear, save where at times Soft-tinted fleeces drifted dreamily, Bearing a... Poet: John Hall Ingham	The First Rose of Summer “oh dear! is Summer over?” I heard a rosebud moan, When first her eyes she opened, And found she was alone. “Oh, why did Summer leave me, Little me, belated? Where are the other roses? I think they might have waited.” ... Poet: Oliver Herford	Summer Days IN summer, when the days were long, We walked together in the wood: Our heart was light, our steps were strong; Sweet flutterings were there in our blood, In summer, when the days were long. We strayed from morn till evening came; We... Poet: Wathen Marks Wilks Call	“Has summer come without the rose?” Has summer come without the rose, Or left the bird behind? Is the blue changed above thee, O world! or am I blind? Will you change every flower that grows, Or only change this spot, Where she who said, I love thee, Now says, I love... Poet: Arthur William Edgar O’Shaughnessy
After Summer We ’ll not weep for summer over,— No, not we: Strew above his head the clover,— Let him be! Other eyes may weep his dying, Shed their tears There upon him, where he ’s lying With his peers. Unto... Poet: Philip Bourke Marston	Summer Rain Thick lay the dust, uncomfortably white, In glaring mimicry of Arab sand. The woods and mountains slept in hazy light; The meadows looked athirst and tawny tanned; The little rills had left their channels bare, With scarce a pool to witness what they were... Poet: Hartley Coleridge

1
2
3
4
5
next ›
last »