Poem Lake | The Greatest Poems of All Time

The Happiest Heart Who drives the horses of the sun Shall lord it but a day; Better the lowly deed were done, And kept the humble way. The rust will find the sword of fame, The dust will hide the crown; Ay, none shall nail so high his name Time will not... Poet: John Vance Cheney	The Strong Dost deem him weak that owns his strength is tried? Nay, we may safely lean on him that grieves: The pine has immemorially sighed, The enduring poplar’s are the trembling leaves. To feel, and bow the head, is not to fear; To cheat with jest—that is... Poet: John Vance Cheney	Every One to His Own Way Oak leaves are big as the mouse’s ear, So, farmer, go plant. But the frost— Beware! the witch o’ the year, See that her palm be crossed. The bee is abroad, and the ant; Spider is busy; ho, farmer, go plant. The winds blow soft from the glazy sea... Poet: John Vance Cheney	Evening Songs I the birds have hid, the winds are low, The brake is awake, the grass aglow: The bat is the rover, No bee on the clover, The day is over, And evening come. The heavy beetle spreads her wings, The toad has the road, the cricket... Poet: John Vance Cheney
The Skilful Listener The skilful listener, he, methinks, may hear The grass blades clash in sunny field together, The roses kissing, and the lily, whether It joy or sorrow in the summer’s ear, The jewel dew-bells of the mead ring clear When morning lightly moves them in June... Poet: John Vance Cheney	Whither Whither leads this pathway, little one?— It runs just on and on, is never done. Whither leads this pathway, mistress fair?— That path to town, sir; to the village square. Whither leads this pathway, father old?— To the white quiet of the churchyard... Poet: John Vance Cheney	The Man with the Hoe Nature reads not our labels, “great” and “small”; Accepts she one and all Who, striving, win and hold the vacant place; All are of royal race. Him, there, rough-cast, with rigid arm and limb, The Mother moulded him, Of his rude realm ruler... Poet: John Vance Cheney	The Happiest Heart Who drives the horses of the sun Shall lord it but a day; Better the lowly deed were done, And kept the humble way. The rust will find the sword of fame, The dust will hide the crown; Ay, none shall nail so high his name Time will not... Poet: John Vance Cheney
“The Man with the Hoe”: a Reply “Let us a little permit Nature to take her own way: she better understands her own affairs than we.” —MONTAIGNE, Of Experience. NATURE reads not our labels, “great” and “small”; Accepts she one and all Who, striving, win and hold the vacant place;... Poet: John Vance Cheney	The Fallen (In Memoriam, May 30) I. TOLL the slow bell, Toll the low bell, Toll, toll, Make dole For them that wrought so well. Come, come, With muffled drum And wailing lorn Of dolorous horn; The solemn measure slow... Poet: John Vance Cheney