Poem Lake | The Greatest Poems of All Time

On a Boy's First Reading of "King Henry V" When youth was lord of my unchallenged fate, And time seemed but the vassal of my will, I entertainëd certain guests of state— The great of older days, who, faithful still, Have kept with me the pact my youth had made. And I remember how one galleon rare... Poet: Silas Weir Mitchell	To a Magnolia Flower in the Garden of the Armenian Convent at Venice I saw thy beauty in its high estate Of perfect empire, where at set of sun In the cool twilight of thy lucent leaves The dewy freshness told that day was done. Hast thou no gift beyond thine ivory cone’s Surpassing loveliness? Art thou not near—... Poet: Silas Weir Mitchell	Of One Who Seemed to Have Failed Death ’s but one more to-morrow. Thou art gray With many a death of many a yesterday. O yearning heart that lacked the athlete’s force And, stumbling, fell upon the beaten course, And looked, and saw with ever glazing eyes Some lower soul that seemed to... Poet: Silas Weir Mitchell	The Quaker Graveyard Four straight brick walls, severely plain, A quiet city square surround; A level space of nameless graves,— The Quakers’ burial-ground. In gown of gray, or coat of drab, They trod the common ways of life, With passions held in sternest... Poet: Silas Weir Mitchell
Idleness There is no dearer lover of lost hours Than I. I can be idler than the idlest flowers; More idly lie Than noonday lilies languidly afloat, And water pillowed in a windless moat. And I can be Stiller than some gray... Poet: Silas Weir Mitchell	A Decanter of Madeira, Aged 86, to George Bancroft, Aged 86, Greeting Good master, you and I were born In “Teacup days” of hoop and hood, And when the silver cue hung down, And toasts were drunk, and wine was good; When kin of mine (a jolly brood) From sideboards looked, and knew full well What courage they had... Poet: Silas Weir Mitchell	The Quaker Graveyard Four straight brick walls, severely plain, A quiet city square surround; A level space of nameless graves,— The Quakers’ burial-ground. In gown of gray, or coat of drab, They trod the common ways of life, With passions held in sternest... Poet: Silas Weir Mitchell