Section: «Poems»
Verse (ancient Greek ὁ στίχος — row, structure), a term in versification used in several meanings:
artistic speech organized by division into rhythmically commensurate segments; poetry in the narrow sense; in particular, it implies the properties of versification of a particular tradition ("antique verse", "Akhmatova's verse", etc.);
a line of poetic text organized according to a certain rhythmic pattern ("My uncle of the most honest rules").
Mental Cases
Who are these? Why sit they here in twilight?Wherefore rock they, purgatorial shadows,Drooping tongues from jays that slob their relish,Baring teeth..
© Wilfred Owen
I Know The Music
All sounds have been as music to my listening:Pacific lamentations of slow bells,The crunch of boots on blue snow rosy-glistening,Shuffle of autumn..
© Wilfred Owen
The Next War
War's a joke for me and you,Wile we know such dreams are true.- Siegfried SassoonOut there, we've walked quite friendly up to Death,-Sat down and..
© Wilfred Owen
Exposure
I1 Our brains ache, in the merciless iced east winds that knife us ...2 Wearied we keep awake because the night is silent ...3 Low drooping flares..
© Wilfred Owen
Asleep
Under his helmet, up against his pack,After so many days of work and waking,Sleep took him by the brow and laid him back.There, in the happy no-time..
© Wilfred Owen
1914
War broke: and now the Winter of the worldWith perishing great darkness closes in.The foul tornado, centred at Berlin,Is over all the width of Europe..
© Wilfred Owen
Disabled
He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark,And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey,Legless, sewn short at elbow. Through the parkVoices of boys..
© Wilfred Owen
Anthem For Doomed Youth
What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?Only the monstrous anger of the guns.Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattleCan patter out their..
© Wilfred Owen
Dulce Et Decorum Est
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,Till on the haunting flares we turned out..
© Wilfred Owen
Ulalume
The skies they were ashen and sober;The leaves they were crisped and sere -The leaves they were withering and sere;It was night in the lonesome..
© Edgar Allan Poe
To Isadore
I. Beneath the vine-clad eaves,Whose shadows fall beforeThy lowly cottage door--Under the lilac's tremulous leaves--Within thy snowy clasped handThe..
© Edgar Allan Poe
The City Of Sin
LO! Death hath rear'd himself a throneIn a strange city, all alone,Far down within the dim west —Where the good, and the bad, and the worst, and the..
© Edgar Allan Poe
To Marie Louise (Shew)
Of all who hail thy presence as the morning-Of all to whom thine absence is the night-The blotting utterly from out high heavenThe sacred sun- of all..
© Edgar Allan Poe
The Village Street
In these rapid, restless shadows,Once I walked at eventide,When a gentle, silent maiden,Walked in beauty at my side.She alone there walked beside..
© Edgar Allan Poe
Impromptu - To Kate Carol
When from your gems of thought I turnTo those pure orbs, your heart to learn,I scarce know which to prize most high —The bright i-dea, or the bright..
© Edgar Allan Poe
The Bells - A Collaboration
The bells! — ah, the bells!The little silver bells!How fairy-like a melody there floatsFrom their throats. —From their merry little throats —From the..
© Edgar Allan Poe
The Divine Right Of Kings
The only king by right divineIs Ellen King, and were she mineI'd strive for liberty no more,But hug the glorious chains I wore.Her bosom is an ivory..
© Edgar Allan Poe
To M--
O! I care not that my earthly lotHath little of Earth in it,That years of love have been forgotIn the fever of a minute:I heed not that the..
© Edgar Allan Poe
Stanzas
How often we forget all time, when loneAdmiring Nature's universal throne;Her woods- her wilds- her mountains- the intenseReply of HERS to OUR..
© Edgar Allan Poe
To -- --
Not long ago, the writer of these lines,In the mad pride of intellectuality,Maintained "the power of words"- denied that everA thought arose within..
© Edgar Allan Poe
To M.L.S.
Of all who hail thy presence as the morning-Of all to whom thine absence is the night-The blotting utterly from out high heavenThe sacred sun- of all..
© Edgar Allan Poe
To --
The bowers whereat, in dreams, I seeThe wantonest singing birds,Are lips- and all thy melodyOf lip-begotten words-Thine eyes, in Heaven of heart..
© Edgar Allan Poe
To F--S S. O--D
Thou wouldst be loved?- then let thy heartFrom its present pathway part not!Being everything which now thou art,Be nothing which thou art not.So with..
© Edgar Allan Poe
Sonnet- To Zante
Fair isle, that from the fairest of all flowers,Thy gentlest of all gentle names dost take!How many memories of what radiant hoursAt sight of thee..
© Edgar Allan Poe
To F--
Beloved! amid the earnest woesThat crowd around my earthly path-(Drear path, alas! where growsNot even one lonely rose)-My soul at least a solace..
© Edgar Allan Poe