Poem Lake | The Greatest Poems of All Time

The Happy Hour The Busy day is over, The household work is done; The cares that fret the morning Have faded with the sun; And in the tender twilight, I sit in happy rest, With my precious rosy baby Asleep upon my breast. White lids with silken... Poet: Mary Frances Butts	The Happy Mother An’ O! may I never live single again, I wish I may never live single again; I hae a gudeman, an’ a hame o’ my ain, An’ O! may I never live single again. I ’ve twa bonnie bairnies, the fairest of a’, They cheer up my heart when their daddie’s awa’; ... Poet: Alexander Laing	The Means to attain Happy Life Martial, the things that do attain The happy life be these, I find,— The riches left, not got with pain; The fruitful ground, the quiet mind, The equal friend; no grudge, no strife; No charge of rule, nor governance; Without disease, the... Poet: Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey	“Happy are the dead” I Walked the other day, to spend my hour, Into a field, Where I sometimes had seen the soil to yield A gallant flower: But winter now had ruffled all the bower And curious store I knew there heretofore. Yet I, whose... Poet: Henry Vaughan
The Character of a Happy Life How happy is he born and taught That serveth not another’s will; Whose armor is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill! Whose passions not his masters are; Whose soul is still prepared for death, Not tied unto the world with... Poet: Sir Henry Wotton	The Happy Heart From “Patient Grissell,” Act I. Sc. 1. ART thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers? O sweet content! Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed? O punishment! Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vexed To add to golden numbers, golden... Poet: Thomas Dekker	Going to Him! Happy letter! Going to Him! Happy letter! Tell Him — Tell Him the page I didn't write — Tell Him — I only said the Syntax — And left the Verb and the pronoun out — Tell Him just how the fingers hurried — Then — how they... Poet:	How happy I was if I could forget How happy I was if I could forget To remember how sad I am Would be an easy adversity But the recollecting of Bloom Keeps making November difficult Till I who was almost bold Lose my way like a... Poet:
How happy is the little Stone How happy is the little Stone That rambles in the Road alone, And doesn't care about Careers And Exigencies never fears — Whose Coat of elemental Brown A passing Universe put on, And independent as the Sun... Poet:	Of H s birth this was the happy lot *** * *** Of H s birth this was the happy lot His Mother on his Father him begot Poet: