This page is specially prepared for early poems. You can reach newest and popular early poems from this page. You can vote and comment on the early poems you read.
If the sun sets for me at dawn
So that the white in me turns black
Before I shed off a single milk teeth
If I vacate that soothsome seat
Here alone it makes me feel bad.
Mostly when i keep thinking about the plans we had, sad.
My heart is broken, no craft maker would even fix it.
Michael: A Pastoral Poem
If from the public way you turn your steps
Up the tumultuous brook of Green-head Ghyll,
You will suppose that with an upright path
Your feet must struggle; in such bold ascent
Few hours pictures on s/media,
Nonga gone too early, mortuary ices like that we bought Sunday after church
What to think then, soil one me after relatives to come,
Temperature is above normal in a coffin can't scream
I Died To Live Again
Evening smile must be worn,
Tonight's dinner is served
With the drumming of their guns.
Battalion of thirsty soldiers are on the verge
Over the west side of the mountain,
that-s lyrebird country.
I could go down there, they say, in the early morning,
and I-d see them, I-d hear them.
Ah, had you seen the Coolun,
Walking down by the cuckoo's street,
With the dew of the meadow shining
On her milk-white twinkling feet.
Sir Samuel Ferguson
One pearly day of early May
I strolled upon the sand,
And saw, say half-a-mile away
A man with gun in hand;
When I woke up and couldn't behold d light that the sun gives,
I couldn't help but think about you
Because the sun wasn't here to remind me of your smile,Smile this morning ,I want you to smile this morning because your smile brings hope to everything around you,Am missing your smile,missing your smile early this day.
The Tree's early leaf buds were bursting their brown;
“Shall I take them away?” said the Frost, sweeping down.
“No, leave them alone
Till the blossoms have grown,”
Venus And Adonis
Even as the sun with purple-coloured face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheeked Adonis hied him to the chase;
Hunting he loved, but love he laughed to scorn.
He is a roguish little elf,
A gay audacious fellow,
Who tramps about in doublet green
And skirt of brightest yellow;
Kate L. Brown
Through the open French window the warm sun
Lights up the polished breakfast-table, laid
Round a bowl of crimson roses, for one -
A service of Worcester porcelain, arrayed
Alone, alone! - no other face
Wears kindred smile, kindred line;
And yet they say my mother's eyes.
They say my father's brow, is mine;
Letitia Elizabeth Landon
With half-hearted levies of frost that make foray,
retire, and refrain-
Ambiguous bugles that blow and that falter to
On the white throat of the' useless passion
That scorched my soul with its burning breath
I clutched my fingers in murderous fashion,
And gathered them close in a grip of death;
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Time: My Friend And For
Time is my early friend, the best friend too
This lovely world that has brought me into.
That has showed me the beauty of the sea
Lakes, rocks , sky , moon and also the tree.
The Holy Fair
A note of seeming truth and trust
Hid crafty observation;
And secret hung, with poison'd crust,
The dirk of defamation:
IT was a perfect day
For sowing; just
As sweet and dry was the ground
Of The Cuckoo
Thou booby, say'st thou nothing but cuckoo?
The robin and the wren can thee outdo.
They to us play thorÃ³ugh their little throats,
Not one, but sundry pretty tuneful notes.
Dim, as the borrow'd beams of moon and stars
To lonely, weary, wand'ring travellers,
Is reason to the soul; and as on high,
Those rolling fires discover but the sky
South Of My Days
South of my days' circle, part of my blood's country,
rises that tableland, high delicate outline
of bony slopes wincing under the winter,
low trees, blue-leaved and olive, outcropping granite-
When first we hear the shy-come nightingales,
They seem to mutter o'er their songs in fear,
And, climb we e'er so soft the spinney rails,
All stops as if no bird was anywhere.
Once I knew a noble peasant
From a line of men large-hearted.
Light and strength were in his mind,
Lifted like a peak clear-lined
AMONG deep woods is the dismantled scite
Of an old Abbey, where the chaunted rite,
By twice ten brethren of the monkish cowl,
Was duly sung; and requiems for the soul
The winter evening settles down
With smell of steaks in passageways.
T. S. Eliot
To A Mountain Daisy
ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH, IN APRIL, 1786
Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r,
Thou's met me in an evil hour;
Absalom And Achitophel
In pious times, ere priest-craft did begin,
Before polygamy was made a sin;
When man, on many, multipli'd his kind,
Ere one to one was cursedly confin'd:
When Youth's warm heart beats high, my friend,
And Youth's blue sky is bright,
And shines in Youth's clear eye, my friend,
Love's early dawning light,
Ye banks and braes and streams around
The castle o' Montgomery,
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,
Your waters never drumlie!
Sleep not too much; nor longer than asleep
Within thy bed thy lazy body keep;
For when thou, warm awake, shall feel it soft,
Fond cogitations will assail thee oft:
Views Of Life
When sinks my heart in hopeless gloom,
And life can shew no joy for me;
And I behold a yawning tomb,
Where bowers and palaces should be;
Beauty And Files
I don't know what is the vice I 'er own
Yet, forbidden stars'-light can't shed my light
Mine own is all too heavy, I swen
So a ministerial marked the school