Thomæ Quadrijugæ.

Toms coach and six, whither in such haste going?
But a short journey, to his own undoing.

Quadrijugis Thomas quo nunc se proripit ille?
Abiit in celerem--brevis est via, nota--ruinam.

Jacob Bigelow

Jacob Bigelow was an American physician, botanist, and botanical illustrator. He was instrumental in the founding of Mount Auburn Cemetery in Cambridge, Massachusetts, the first rural cemetery in the United States and a precursor to America's public parks. Bigelow was a leading advocate for modernizing medicine and medical education, focusing on practical medicine and scientific advancements. His contributions to botany include the publication of 'American Medical Botany,' which combined his medical knowledge with detailed botanical illustrations.

Jacob Bigelow

Labor Et Cura.

Jacob Bigelow, Simple Poetry

Vetula Calceocola.

Jacob Bigelow, Simple Poetry

Puer Cæruleus.

Jacob Bigelow, Simple Poetry

Jackus Et Jilla.

Jacob Bigelow, 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.

Miles Redux.

Who comes here?
A Grenadier.
What do you want?
A pot of beer.
Wheres your money?
Ive forgot.
Get you gone,
You drunken sot.

Heus! Quis illic?
Ductor militiæ.
Quid petis hic?
Cantharum cervisiæ.
Ubi moneta?
Loqueris oblito.
O, ebriose,
In malum abito.

Jacob Bigelow

At The Sign Of The Skull.

It's "Gallop and go!" and "Slow, now, slow!"
With every man in this life below
But the things of this world are a fleeting show.

The postchaise Time that all must take
Is old with clay and dust;
Two horses strain its rusty brake
Named Pleasure and Disgust.

Our baggage totters on its roof,
Of Vanity and Care,
As Hope, the postboy, spurs each hoof,
Or heavy-eyed Despair.

And now a comrade with us rides,
Love, haply, or Remorse;
And that dim traveler besides,
Gaunt Memory on a horse.

And be we king or be we kern
Who ride the roads of Sin,
No matter how the roads may turn
They lead us to that Inn.

Unto that Inn within that land
Of silence and of gloom,
Whose ghastly landlord takes our hand
And leads us to...

Madison Julius Cawein

The Going

Why did you give no hint that night
That quickly after the morrow's dawn,
And calmly, as if indifferent quite,
You would close your term here, up and be gone
    Where I could not follow
    With wing of swallow
To gain one glimpse of you ever anon!

    Never to bid good-bye,
    Or give me the softest call,
Or utter a wish for a word, while I
Saw morning harden upon the wall,
    Unmoved, unknowing
    That your great going
Had place that moment, and altered all.

Why do you make me leave the house
And think for a breath it is you I see
At the end of the alley of bending boughs
Where so often at dusk you used to be;
    Till in darkening dankness
    The yawning blankness
Of the perspective sickens me!

    You were sh...

Thomas Hardy

Ode On A Distant Prospect Of Clapham Academy.[1]

I.

Ah me! those old familiar bounds!
That classic house, those classic grounds
My pensive thought recalls!
What tender urchins now confine,
What little captives now repine,
Within yon irksome walls?


II.

Ay, that's the very house! I know
Its ugly windows, ten a-row!
Its chimneys in the rear!
And there's the iron rod so high,
That drew the thunder from the sky
And turn'd our table-beer!


III.

There I was birch'd! there I was bred!
There like a little Adam fed
From Learning's woeful tree!
The weary tasks I used to con! -
The hopeless leaves I wept upon! -
Most fruitless leaves to me! -


IV.

The summon'd class! - the awful bow! -
I wonder who is master now
And wholeso...

Thomas Hood

De Profundis - II

"Considerabam ad dexteram, et videbam; et non erat qui cognosceret me
. . . Non est qui requirat animam meam." - Ps. cxli.

When the clouds' swoln bosoms echo back the shouts of the many and strong
That things are all as they best may be, save a few to be right ere long,
And my eyes have not the vision in them to discern what to these is so clear,
The blot seems straightway in me alone; one better he were not here.

The stout upstanders say, All's well with us: ruers have nought to rue!
And what the potent say so oft, can it fail to be somewhat true?
Breezily go they, breezily come; their dust smokes around their career,
Till I think I am one horn out of due time, who has no calling here.

Their dawns bring lusty joys, it seems; their eves exultance sweet;
Our ti...

Thomas Hardy

From The Hon. Henry ----, To Lady Emma ----.

Paris, March 30,1833.


You bid me explain, my dear angry Ma'amselle,
How I came thus to bolt without saying farewell;
And the truth is,--as truth you will have, my sweet railer,--
    There are two worthy persons I always feel loath
To take leave of at starting,--my mistress and tailor,--
    As somehow one always has scenes with them both;
The Snip in ill-humor, the Syren in tears,
    She calling on Heaven, and he on the attorney,--
Till sometimes, in short, 'twixt his duns and his dears,
    A young gentleman risks being stopt in his journey.

But to come to the point, tho' you think, I dare say.
That 'tis debt or the Cholera drives me away,
'Pon honor you're wrong;--such a mere bagatelle
    As a pestilence, nobody now-a-days fea...

Thomas Moore