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You are now in the place where we share poems of well-known poets, often from the list “Best Poems” and “Best Poets”. Poems are presented in the most popular topic categories. Due to copyright we only present the poems of those poets who passed away some time ago and therefore, you will not find poems of contemporary poets here. We invite you to familiarise yourself with the poems available here and we hope you will enjoy reading. The poems found here you can easily add to the free ecards from our site, and then send ecards to friends. Love poems are particularly great for that. Beautiful poetry added to an ecard can be a lovely surprise for the addressee. Except reading ready poems, you can add your own, original poems here. You only need to sign up for a free User Account. Certainly we all greatly enjoy beautiful poetry and reading poems is a very pleasant past time.

The Mother



I do not grudge them: Lord, I do not grudge
My two strong sons that I have seen go out
To break their strength and die, they and a few,
In bloody protest for a glorious thing,
They shall be spoken of among their people,
The generations shall remember them,
And call them blessed;
But I will speak their names to my own heart
In the long nights;
The little names that were familiar once
Round my dead hearth.
Lord, thou art hard on mothers:
We suffer in their coming and their going;
And tho' I grudge them not, I weary, weary
Of the long sorrow—And yet I have my joy:
My sons were faithful, and they fought.

Poems by Patrick Pearse

To a Beloved Child



Laughing mouth, what tortures me is
That thou shalt be weeping;
Lovely face, it is my pity
That thy brightness shall grow grey.
Noble head, thou art proud,
But thou shalt bow with sorrow;
And it is a pitiful thing I forbode for thee
Whenever I kiss thee.

Poems by Patrick Pearse

To a Beloved Child



Laughing mouth, what tortures me is
That thou shalt be weeping;
Lovely face, it is my pity
That thy brightness shall grow grey.
Noble head, thou art proud,
But thou shalt bow with sorrow;
And it is a pitiful thing I forbode for thee
Whenever I kiss thee.

Poems by Patrick Pearse

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