John Hay

(8 October 1838 – 1 July 1905 / Salem, Indiana)

John Hay Poems

1. Accidents 1/4/2003
2. The Stirrup Cup 1/4/2003
3. Through The Long Days 1/4/2003
4. On Pitz Languard 1/4/2003
5. Estrella 1/4/2003
6. Infinite Variety 1/4/2003
7. Sunise In The Place De La Concorde 1/4/2003
8. The Surrender Of Spain 1/4/2003
9. Liberty 1/4/2003
10. In The Firelight 1/4/2003
11. Sleep 1/4/2003
12. Peace 1/4/2003
13. Love And Music 1/4/2003
14. Esse Quam Videri 1/4/2003
15. Lise-Amor 1/4/2003
16. Love's Dawn 1/4/2003
17. The Prayer Of The Romands 1/4/2003
18. The Monks Of Basle 1/4/2003
19. Boudoir Prophecies 1/4/2003
20. Ernst Of Edelsheim 1/4/2003
21. The Pledge At Spunky Point 1/4/2003
22. Is She Here? 1/4/2003
23. Matins 1/4/2003
24. Sorrento 1/4/2003
25. Postum 1/4/2003
26. Sweetest And Dearest 1/4/2003
27. Miles Keogh's Horse 1/4/2003
28. The Advance Guard 1/4/2003
29. God's Vengeance 1/4/2003
30. After You, Pilot 1/4/2003
31. Northward 1/4/2003
32. They Will Be Done 1/4/2003
33. Obedience 1/4/2003
34. Sinai And Calvary 1/4/2003
35. The Vision Of Saint Peter 1/4/2003
36. Israel 1/4/2003
37. The Crows At Washington 1/4/2003
38. Reveille 1/4/2003
39. Two On The Terrace 1/4/2003
40. To The Vesper Sparrow 1/4/2003
Best Poem of John Hay

The Enchanted Shirt

Fytte the First: wherein it shall be shown how the Truth is too mighty a Drug for such as be of feeble temper

The King was sick. His cheek was red
And his eye was clear and bright;
He ate and drank with a kingly zest,
And peacefully snored at night.

But he said he was sick, and a king should know,
And doctors came by the score.
They did not cure him. He cut off their heads
And sent to the schools for more.

At last two famous doctors came,
And one was as poor as a rat,
He had passed his life in studious toil,
And never found time to ...

Read the full of The Enchanted Shirt

Atavism

O beauteous daughter of a mighty race!
In thy fair features and thy radiant eyes
Like bright clouds floating over brighter skies
The shadows of a glorious past we trace.
Framed in the oval of thy perfect face
Flit the pale belles of bygone centuries;
A hint of lawgivers and jurists lies
In that pure brow where strength is wed with grace.
And looking on thy profile's symmetry

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