Sonnet to ---- .

    Journeying through a desert, waste and drear,
        Exhausted and disheartened by his way,
        So hard and parched, unchanged from day to day,
    Saw the lone traveller an oasis near,
    In which a tender flower did appear,
        Endued with beauty and with fragrance sweet,
        Known not to scorching winds nor blighting heat;
    And gazing on it, it imparted cheer.
    The traveller trod the weary sands of Time,
        Entering thy home delightful peace he found;
    Radiant with youthful beauty half divine,
        On him thine angel face with sunbeams crowned
    Smiled, and that artless, beaming smile of thine
        Sped to his soul that with new life did bound.

W. M. MacKeracher

W. M. MacKeracher was a poet known for his contributions to Canadian literature during the early 20th century. His works often focused on themes of nature, human emotion, and the simplicity of rural life. Though not as widely known as some of his contemporaries, MacKeracher's poetry has been appreciated for its lyrical quality and depth. Much of his work was published in regional journals and anthologies, capturing the essence of Canadian landscapes and the human experience within them. His exact birth and death dates remain obscure.

W. M. MacKeracher

The Principal's Ash-Barrel.

W. M. MacKeracher, Simple Poetry

Death Of Sir John.

W. M. MacKeracher, Simple Poetry

Alone With Nature.

W. M. MacKeracher, Simple Poetry

God in Nature.

W. M. MacKeracher, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Sonnet.

With wayworn feet a Pilgrim woe-begone
    Life's upward road I journeyed many a day,
    And hymning many a sad yet soothing lay
Beguil'd my wandering with the charms of song.
    Lonely my heart and rugged was my way,
Yet often pluck'd I as I past along
    The wild and simple flowers of Poesy,
And as beseem'd the wayward Fancy's child
    Entwin'd each random weed that pleas'd mine eye.
Accept the wreath, BELOVED! it is wild
    And rudely garlanded; yet scorn not thou
The humble offering, where the sad rue weaves
'Mid gayer flowers its intermingled leaves,
    And I have twin'd the myrtle for thy brow.

Robert Southey

Sonnet

        To-day was but a dead day in my hands.
            Hour by hour did nothing more than pass,
            Mere idle winds above the faded grass.
        And I, as though a captive held in bands,
        Who, seeing a pageant, wonders much, but stands
            Apart, saw the sun blaze his course with brass
            And sink into his fabled sea of glass
        With glory of farewell to many lands.

        Thou knowest, thou who talliest life by days,
            That I have suffered more than pain of toil,
            Ah, more than they whose wounds are soothed with oil,
        And they who see new light on beaten ways!
        The prisoner I, who grasps his iron bars
        And stares out into depth on depth of stars!

John Charles McNeill

Sonnets Of Old Egypt

I

The Sphinx

The spires of sand spring up at every gust
That bids them dance and scatter and lays them low:
He sits impassive, as the ages flow
And bear superbly the mirage of lust.
The moonbright steel he has witnessed redden and rust,
He has seen storm-proud deep-rooted empires grow,
And watched victorious gods flash forth and go;
And still before him spins the aspiring dust.
What has he seen in that hoar-centuried land
More strange and dreadful in its long delight
Of vain hope-haunted ever-starting quest
Than I can follow across this burning sand
Wherefrom the dizzying phantoms take their flight
Within the compass of a wanderers breast?


II

Nicholson Museum: Exhibit 32

The curious look and pass, be...

John Le Gay Brereton

Sonnet XXVIII.

Solo e pensoso i più deserti campi.

HE SEEKS SOLITUDE, BUT LOVE FOLLOWS HIM EVERYWHERE.


    Alone, and lost in thought, the desert glade
Measuring I roam with ling'ring steps and slow;
And still a watchful glance around me throw,
Anxious to shun the print of human tread:
No other means I find, no surer aid
From the world's prying eye to hide my woe:
So well my wild disorder'd gestures show,
And love lorn looks, the fire within me bred,
That well I deem each mountain, wood and plain,
And river knows, what I from man conceal,
What dreary hues my life's fond prospects dim.
Yet whate'er wild or savage paths I've ta'en,
Where'er I wander, love attends me still,
Soft whisp'ring to my soul, and I to him.

ANON., OX., 1795.

Francesco Petrarca

Sonnet to Shelley.

    Divinely strong and beautiful in soul!
        With more than melody of mortal voice!
    The free thy spirit's majesty extol,
        When Liberty is made thy Muse's choice.
    And then how pure and pleasing is thy song,
        When Beauty - goddess of thy mind - its theme!
    But most to thee those sweet, sad strains belong,
        Where Truth we find through musing's fitful dream:
    And trace Uncertainty and how it gropes
        Through this and time to come with faltering feet,
    And vanity of Pleasure, and the Hopes
        Which Fear enfeebles and the Fates defeat:
    Strains oft as if at thy once-sung desire
        The wild west wind had ta'en thee for its lyre.

W. M. MacKeracher

To Isabel

A Beautiful Little Girl.

Fair as some sea-child, in her coral bower,
    Decked with the rare, rich treasures of the deep;
Mild as the spirit of the dream whose power
    Bears back the infant's soul to heaven, in sleep
Brightens the hues of summer's first-born flower
    Pure as the tears repentant mourners weep
O'er deeds to which the siren, Sin, beguiled, -
Art thou, sweet, smiling, bright-eyed cherub child.

Thy presence is a spell of holiness,
    From which unhallowed thoughts shrink blushing back, -
Thy smile is a warm light that shines to bless,
    As beams the beacon o'er the wanderer's track, -
Thy voice is music, at whose sounds Distress
    Unbinds her writhing victim from the rack
Of misery, and charmed by what she hears,
Forgets her w...

George W. Sands