David Mckee Wright Great Poems

  • 1.
    Forget not yet the tried intent
    Of such a truth as I have meant;
    My great travail so gladly spent,
    Forget not yet.
    ...
  • 2.
    I came up to-night to the station, the tramp had been longish and cold,
    My swag ain't too heavy to carry, but then I begin to get old.
    I came through this way to the diggings -- how long will that be ago now?
    Thirty years! how the country has altered, and miles of it under the plough,
    ...
  • 3.
    My mother's maids, when they did sew and spin,
    They sang sometime a song of the field mouse,
    That, for because her livelood was but thin,

    ...
  • 4.
    Mine own John Poynz, since ye delight to know
    The cause why that homeward I me draw,
    And flee the press of courts, whereso they go,
    Rather than to live thrall under the awe
    ...
  • 5.
    He strode across the schoolroom in July,
    Great Hector, clanging in his brazen mail;
    And all the cringing Greeks, with faces pale,
    Creaked into jabbering Ks and turned to fly.
    ...
  • 6.
    There's a sound of many voices in the camp and on the track,
    And letters coming up in shoals to stations at the back;
    And every boat that crosses from the sunny 'other side'
    Is bringing waves of shearers for the swelling of the tide.
    ...
  • 7.
    My galley, chargèd with forgetfulness,
    Thorough sharp seas in winter nights doth pass
    'Tween rock and rock; and eke mine en'my, alas,
    That is my lord, steereth with cruelness;
    ...
Total 7 Great Poems by David Mckee Wright

Top 10 most used topics by David Mckee Wright

Heart 12 Long 11 Pain 10 Plain 9 Mind 9 Love 9 I Love You 9 Good 8 Live 7 Great 7

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Poem of the day

Andrew Lang Poem
Ballade Of The Midnight Forest
 by Andrew Lang

Still sing the mocking fairies, as of old,
Beneath the shade of thorn and holly-tree;
The west wind breathes upon them, pure and cold,
And wolves still dread Diana roaming free
In secret woodland with her company.
'Tis thought the peasants' hovels know her rite
When now the wolds are bathed in silver light,
And first the moonrise breaks the dusky grey,
...

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