English poetry
English Poems – Page 40
More English Poems
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Eileen Aroon
When like the early rose,
Eileen Aroon!
Beauty in childhood blows, … -
Dark Rosaleen
O MY Dark Rosaleen,
Do not sigh, do not weep!
The priests are on the ocean green, … -
The Nameless One
Roll forth, my song, like the rushing river,
That sweeps along to the mighty sea;
God will inspire me while I deliver … -
Wolfram's Dirge
If thou wilt ease thine heart
Of love and all its smart,
Then sleep, dear, sleep; … -
Dream-Pedlary
If there were dreams to sell,
What would you buy?
Some cost a passing bell; … -
Uriel
It fell in the ancient periods
Which the brooding soul surveys,
Or ever the wild Time coin'd itself … -
Bacchus
Bring me wine, but wine which never grew
In the belly of the grape,
Or grew on vine whose tap-roots, reaching through … -
Brahma
If the red slayer think he slays,
Or if the slain think he is slain,
They know not well the subtle ways … -
The Plough
Above yon sombre swell of land
Thou see'st the dawn's grave orange hue,
With one pale streak like yellow sand, … -
King Arthur's Waes-hael
Waes-hael for knight and dame!
O merry be their dole!
Drink-hael! in Jesu's name … -
Are they not all Ministering Spirits?
We see them not—we cannot hear
The music of their wing—
Yet know we that they sojourn near, … -
The Half-asleep
O FOR the mighty wakening that aroused
The old-time Prophets to their missions high;
And to blind Homer's inward sunlike eye … -
The Bells of Shandon
With deep affection,
And recollection,
I often think of … -
Rosalind's Scroll
I LEFT thee last, a child at heart,
A woman scarce in years:
I come to thee, a solemn corpse … -
The Deserted Garden
I MIND me in the days departed,
How often underneath the sun
With childish bounds I used to run … -
A Musical Instrument
What was he doing, the great god Pan,
Down in the reeds by the river?
Spreading ruin and scattering ban, … -
The Holy Tide
The days are sad, it is the Holy tide:
The Winter morn is short, the Night is long;
So let the lifeless Hours be glorified … -
My Lost Youth
Often I think of the beautiful town
That is seated by the sea;
Often in thought go up and down … -
Vesta
O CHRIST of God! whose life and death
Our own have reconciled,
Most quietly, most tenderly … -
Lament of the Irish Emigrant
I'm sittin' on the stile, Mary,
Where we sat side by side
On a bright May mornin' long ago, …
Page 40 of 341
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