Florrie

Related poetry:

1. Cowardice Although you deem it far from nice, And it perchance may hurt you, Let me suggest that cowardice Can masquerade as virtue; And many a maid remains a maid Because she is afraid. And many a man is chaste because He fears the house of sin; And though before the door he pause, He dare […]...
2. Authorship You say that father write a lot of books, but what he write I don’t Understand. He was reading to you all the evening, but could you really Make out what he meant? What nice stores, mother, you can tell us! Why can’t father Write like that, I wonder? Did he never hear from his […]...
3. Unholy Trinity Though Virtue hurt you Vice is nice; Aye, Parson says it’s wrong, Yet for my pleasing I’ll suffice With Women, Wine and Song. But though it be with jocund glee My tavern voice is ringing, Had I to chuck on of the three, By gad! I’d give up singing. Bu not the vine. What draught […]...
4. The Wicked Postman Why do you sit there on the floor so quiet and silent, tell me, Mother dear? The rain is coming in through the open window, making you all Wet, and you don’t mind it. Do you hear the gong striking four? It is time for my brother To come home from school. What has happened […]...
5. 38. Epitaph on my Ever Honoured Father O YE whose cheek the tear of pity stains, Draw near with pious rev’rence, and attend! Here lie the loving husband’s dear remains, The tender father, and the gen’rous friend; The pitying heart that felt for human woe, The dauntless heart that fear’d no human pride; The friend of man-to vice alone a foe; For […]...
6. 373. Song-The Slave's Lament IT was in sweet Senegal that my foes did me enthral, For the lands of Virginia,-ginia, O: Torn from that lovely shore, and must never see it more; And alas! I am weary, weary O: Torn from that lovely shore, and must never see it more; And alas! I am weary, weary O. All on […]...
7. Sympathy My Muse is simple, yet it’s nice To think you don’t need to think twice On words I write. I reckon I’ve a common touch And if you say I cuss too much I answer: ‘Quite!’ I envy not the poet’s lot; He has something I haven’t got, Alas, I know. But I have something […]...
8. Cotton Song Come, brother, come. Lets lift it; Come now, hewit! roll away! Shackles fall upon the Judgment Day But lets not wait for it. God’s body’s got a soul, Bodies like to roll the soul, Cant blame God if we dont roll, Come, brother, roll, roll! Cotton bales are the fleecy way, Weary sinner’s bare feet […]...
9. Corn Grinders O little mouse, why dost thou cry While merry stars laugh in the sky? Alas! alas! my lord is dead! Ah, who will ease my bitter pain? He went to seek a millet-grain In the rich farmer’s granary shed; They caught him in a baited snare, And slew my lover unaware: Alas! alas! my lord […]...
10. Dream Song 20: The Secret of the Wisdom When worst got things, how was you? Steady on? Wheedling, or shockt her & You have been bad to your friend, Whom not you writing to. You have not listened. A pelican of lies You loosed: where are you? Down weeks of evenings of longing By hours, NOW, a stoned bell, You did somebody: others […]...
11. Careers Father is quite the greatest poet That ever lived anywhere. You say you’re going to write great music – I chose that first: it’s unfair. Besides, now I can’t be the greatest painter and do Christ and angels, or lovely pears and apples and grapes on a green dish, or storms at sea, or anything […]...
12. Cacoethes Scribendi If all the trees in all the woods were men; And each and every blade of grass a pen; If every leaf on every shrub and tree Turned to a sheet of foolscap; every sea Were changed to ink, and all earth’s living tribes Had nothing else to do but act as scribes, And for […]...
13. To the Rev. Dr. Thomas Amory To cultivate in ev’ry noble mind Habitual grace, and sentiments refin’d, Thus while you strive to mend the human heart, Thus while the heav’nly precepts you impart, O may each bosom catch the sacred fire, And youthful minds to Virtue’s throne aspire! When God’s eternal ways you set in sight, And Virtue shines in all […]...
14. There Are Not Many Kingdoms Left I write the lips of the moon upon her shoulders. In a Temple of silvery farawayness I guard her to rest. For her bed I write a stillness over all the swans of the World. With the morning breath of the snow leopard I Cover her against any hurt. Using the pen of rivers and […]...
15. A Curse For A Nation I heard an angel speak last night, And he said ‘Write! Write a Nation’s curse for me, And send it over the Western Sea.’ I faltered, taking up the word: ‘Not so, my lord! If curses must be, choose another To send thy curse against my brother. ‘For I am bound by gratitude, By love […]...
16. The Sceptic My Father Christmas passed away When I was barely seven. At twenty-one, alack-a-day, I lost my hope of heaven. Yet not in either lies the curse: The hell of it’s because I don’t know which loss hurt the worse My God or Santa Claus....
17. My Childhood God When I was small the Lord appeared Unto my mental eye A gentle giant with a beard Who homed up in the sky. But soon that vasty vision blurred, And faded in the end, Till God is just another word I cannot comprehend. I envy those of simple faith Who bend the votive knee; Who […]...
18. Snow Late December: my father and I Are going to New York, to the circus. He holds me On his shoulders in the bitter wind: Scraps of white paper Blow over the railroad ties. My father liked To stand like this, to hold me So he couldn’t see me. I remember Staring straight ahead Into the […]...
19. Willie ‘Why did the lady in the lift Slap that poor parson’s face?’ Said Mother, thinking as she sniffed, Of clerical disgrace. Said Sonny Boy: ‘Alas, I know. My conscience doth accuse me; The lady stood upon my toe, Yet did not say “Excuse me!” ‘She hurt and in that crowd confined I scarcely could endure […]...
20. Non Dolet It does not hurt. She looked along the knife Smiling, and watched the thick drops mix and run Down the sheer blade; not that which had been done Could hurt the sweet sense of the Roman wife, But that which was to do yet ere the strife Could end for each for ever, and the […]...
21. Elizabeth Barrett Browning Elizabeth Barrett Browning Sat gossiping with Robert. (She was really a raving beauty in her day. With Mary Pickford curls in clouds and whirls.) She was trying to think of something nice to say, So she pointed to a page by her fellow star and sage, And said: “I wish that I could write that […]...
22. The Coquette, and After (Triolets) I For long the cruel wish I knew That your free heart should ache for me While mine should bear no ache for you; For, long the cruel wish! I knew How men can feel, and craved to view My triumph fated not to be For long! . . . The cruel wish I knew […]...
23. Poet's Path My garden hath a slender path With ivy overgrown, A secret place where once would pace A pot all alone; I see him now with fretted brow, Plunged deep in thought; And sometimes he would write maybe, And sometimes he would not. A verse a day he used to say Keeps worry from the door; […]...
24. Self-Love He that cannot choose but love, And strives against it still, Never shall my fancy move, For he loves ‘gainst his will; Nor he which is all his own, And can at pleasure choose, When I am caught he can be gone, And when he list refuse. Nor he that loves none but fair, For […]...
25. Gods In The Gutter I dreamed I saw three demi-gods who in a cafe sat, And one was small and crapulous, and one was large and fat; And one was eaten up with vice and verminous at that. The first he spoke of secret sins, and gems and perfumes rare; And velvet cats and courtesans voluptuously fair: “Who is […]...
26. Sonnet IV: Virtue, Alas Virtue, alas, now let me take some rest. Thou set’st a bate between my soul and wit. If vain love have my simple soul oppress’d, Leave what thou likest not, deal not thou with it. The scepter use in some old Cato’s breast; Churches or schools are for thy seat more fit. I do confess, […]...
27. A Dialogue-Anthem Alas, poor Death! Where is thy glory? Where is thy famous force, thy ancient sting? Alas, poor mortal, void of story! Go spell and read how I have killed thy King. Poor Death! And who was hurt thereby? Thy curse being laid on Him makes thee accurst. Let losers talk, yet thou shalt die; These […]...
28. The Child Is Father To The Man ‘The child is father to the man.’ How can he be? The words are wild. Suck any sense from that who can: ‘The child is father to the man.’ No; what the poet did write ran, ‘The man is father to the child.’ ‘The child is father to the man!’ How can he be? The […]...
29. Sonnet CXXXIV So, now I have confess’d that he is thine, And I myself am mortgaged to thy will, Myself I’ll forfeit, so that other mine Thou wilt restore, to be my comfort still: But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free, For thou art covetous and he is kind; He learn’d but surety-like to […]...
30. Sonnet 134: So, now I have confessed that he is thine So, now I have confessed that he is thine, And I my self am mortgaged to thy will, Myself I’ll forfeit, so that other mine Thou wilt restore to be my comfort still. But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free, For thou art covetous, and he is kind, He learned but surety-like […]...
31. I’m A Fool To Love You Some folks will tell you the blues is a woman, Some type of supernatural creature. My mother would tell you, if she could, About her life with my father, A strange and sometimes cruel gentleman. She would tell you about the choices A young black woman faces. Is falling in love with some man A […]...
32. Two Truths Darling,’ he said, ‘I never meant To hurt you;’ and his eyes were wet. ‘I would not hurt you for the world: Am I to blame if I forget?’ ‘Forgive my selfish tears!’ she cried, ‘Forgive! I knew that it was not Because you meant to hurt me, sweet- I knew it was that you […]...
33. Unlyric Love Song It is time to give that-of-myself which I could not at first: To offer you now at last my least and my worst: Minor, absurd preserves, The shell’s end-curves, A document kept at the back of a drawer, A tin hidden under the floor, Recalcitrant prides and hesitations: To pile them carefully in a desparate […]...
34. Sonnet LXXIX Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid, My verse alone had all thy gentle grace, But now my gracious numbers are decay’d And my sick Muse doth give another place. I grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument Deserves the travail of a worthier pen, Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent He robs […]...
35. Sonnet 79: Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid, My verse alone had all thy gentle grace, But now my gracious numbers are decayed, And my sick Muse doth give an other place. I grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument Deserves the travail of a worthier pen, Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent He […]...
36. Sonnet XXXV: Some, Misbelieving To Miracle Some, misbelieving and profane in love, When I do speak of miracles by thee, May say, that thou art flattered by me, Who only write my skill in verse to prove. See miracles, ye unbelieving, see A dumb-born Muse made t’express the mind, A cripple hand to write, yet lame by kind, One […]...
37. Father He never made a fortune, or a noise In the world where men are seeking after fame; But he had a healthy brood of girls and boys Who loved the very ground on which he trod. They thought him just little short of God; Oh you should have heard the way they said his name […]...
38. My Cross I wrote a poem to the moon But no one noticed it; Although I hoped that late or soon Someone would praise a bit Its purity and grace forlone, Its beauty tulip-cool… But as my poem died still-born, I felt a fool. I wrote a verse of vulgar trend Spiced with an oath or two; […]...
39. Cruisers As our mother the Frigate, bepainted and fine, Made play for her bully the Ship of the Line; So we, her bold daughters by iron and fire, Accost and decoy to our masters’ desire. Now, pray you, consider what toils we endure, Night-walking wet sea-lanes, a guard and a lure; Since half of our trade […]...
40. The Divine Image To Mercy Pity Peace and Love. All pray in their distress: And to these virtues of delight Return their thankfulness. For Mercy Pity Peace and Love, Is God our Father dear: And Mercy Pity Peace and Love, Is Man his child and care. For Mercy has a human heart Pity, a human face: And Love, […]...