July Poems - Poems For July

Poems about july. You can read the best july poems. Browse through all july poems.

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  • 1.
    The Shepheardes Calender: July

    July: Ægloga Septima. Thomalin & Morrell.

    IS not thilke same a goteheard prowde,
    that sittes on yonder bancke,
    Whose straying heard them selfe doth shrowde
    emong the bushes rancke?

    What ho, thou iollye shepheards swayne,
    come vp the hill to me:
    Better is, then the lowly playne,
    als for thy flocke, and thee.

    Ah God shield, man, that I should clime,
    and learne to looke alofte,
    This reede is ryfe, that oftentime
    great clymbers fall vnsoft.
    In humble dales is footing fast,
    the trode is not so tickle:
    And though one fall through heedlesse hast,
    yet is his misse not mickle.
    And now the Sonne hath reared vp
    his fyriefooted teme,
    Making his way betweene the Cuppe,
    and golden Diademe:
    The rampant Lyon hunts he fast,
    with Dogge of noysome breath,
    Whose balefull barking bringes in hast
    pyne, plagues, and dreery death.
    Agaynst his cruell scortching heate
    where hast thou couerture?
    The wastefull hylls vnto his threate
    is a playne ouerture.
    But if thee lust, to holden chat
    with seely shepherds swayne,
    Come downe, and learne the little what,
    that Thomalin can sayne.

    Syker, thous but a laesie loord,
    and rekes much of thy swinck,
    That with fond termes, and weetlesse words
    to blere myne eyes doest thinke.
    In euill houre thou hentest in hond
    thus holy hylles to blame,
    For sacred vnto saints they stond,
    and of them han theyr name.
    S. Michels mount who does not know,
    that wardes the Westerne coste?
    And of S. Brigets bowre I trow,
    all Kent can rightly boaste:
    And they that con of Muses skill,
    sayne most what, that they dwell
    (As goteheards wont) vpon a hill,
    beside a learned well.
    And wonned not the great god Pan,
    vpon mount Oliuet:
    Feeding the blessed flocke of Dan,
    which dyd himselfe beget?

    O blessed sheepe, O shepheard great,
    that bought his flocke so deare,
    And them did saue with bloudy sweat
    from Wolues, that would them teare.

    Besyde, as holy fathers sayne,
    there is a hyllye place,
    Where Titan ryseth from the mayne,
    to renne hys dayly race.
    Vpon whose toppe the starres bene stayed,
    and all the skie doth leane,
    There is the caue, where Phebe layed,
    The shepheard long to dreame.
    Whilome there vsed shepheards all
    to feede theyr flocks at will,
    Till by his foly one did fall,
    that all the rest did spill.
    And sithens shepheardes bene foresayd
    from places of delight:
    For thy I weene thou be affrayed,
    to clime this hilles height.
    Of Synah can I tell thee more,
    and of our Ladyes bowre:
    But little needes to strow my store,
    suffice this hill of our.
    Here han the holy Faunes resourse,
    and Syluanes haunten rathe.
    Here has the salt Medway his sourse,
    wherein the Nymphes doe bathe.
    The salt Medway, that trickling stremis
    adowne the dales of Kent:
    Till with his elder brother Themis
    his brackish waues be meynt.
    Here growes Melampode euery where,
    and Terebinth good for Gotes:
    The one, my madding kiddes to smere,
    the next, to heale theyr throtes.
    Hereto, the hills bene nigher heuen,
    and thence the passage ethe.
    As well can proue the piercing levin,
    that seeldome falls bynethe.

    Syker thou speakes lyke a lewde lorrell,
    of Heauen to demen so:
    How be I am but rude and borrell,
    yet nearer wayes I knowe.
    To Kerke the narre, from God more farre,
    has bene an old sayd sawe.
    And he that striues to touch the starres,
    oft stombles at a strawe.
    Alsoone may shepheard clymbe to skye,
    that leades in lowly dales,
    As Goteherd prowd that sitting hye,
    vpon the Mountaine sayles.
    My seely sheepe like well belowe,
    they neede not Melampode:
    For they bene hale enough, I trowe,
    and liken theyr abode.
    But if they with thy Gotes should yede,
    they soone myght be corrupted:
    Or like not of the frowie fede,
    or with the weedes be glutted.
    The hylls, where dwelled holy saints,
    I reuerence and adore:
    Not for themselfe, but for the sayncts,
    which han be dead of yore.
    And nowe they bene to heauen forewent,
    theyr good is with them goe:
    Theyr sample onely to vs lent,
    that als we mought doe soe.
    Shepheards they weren of the best,
    and liued in lowly leas:
    And sith theyr soules bene now at rest,
    why done we them disease?
    Such one he was, (as I haue heard
    old Algrind often sayne)
    That whilome was the first shepheard,
    and liued with little gayne:
    As meeke he was, as meeke mought be,
    simple, as simple sheepe,
    Humble, and like in eche degree
    the flocke, which he did keepe.
    Often he vsed of hys keepe
    a sacrifice to bring,
    Nowe with a Kidde, now with a sheepe
    The Altars hallowing.
    So lowted he vnto hys Lord,
    such fauour couth he fynd,
    That sithens neuer was abhord,
    the simple shepheards kynd.
    And such I weene the brethren were,
    that came from Canaan:
    The brethren twelue, that kept yfere
    The flockes of mighty Pan.
    But nothing such thilke shephearde was,
    whom Ida hyll dyd beare,
    That left hys flocke, to fetch a lasse,
    whose loue he bought to deare:
    For he was proude, that ill was payd,
    (no such mought shepheards bee)
    And with lewde lust was ouerlayd:
    tway things doen ill agree:
    But shepheard mought be meeke and mylde,
    well eyed, as Argus was,
    With fleshly follyes vndefyled,
    and stoute as steede of brasse.
    Sike one (sayd Algrin) Moses was,
    that sawe hys makers face,
    His face more cleare, then Christall glasse,
    and spake to him in place.
    This had a brother, (his name I knewe)
    the first of all his cote,
    A shepheard trewe, yet not so true,
    as he that earst I hote.
    Whilome all these were lowe, and lief,
    and loued their flocks to feede,
    They neuer strouen to be chiefe,
    and simple was theyr weede.
    But now (thanked be God therefore)
    the world is well amend,
    Their weedes bene not so nighly wore,
    such simplesse mought them shend:
    They bene yclad in purple and pall,
    so hath theyr god them blist,
    They reigne and rulen ouer all,
    and lord it, as they list:
    Ygyrt with belts of glitterand gold,
    (mought they good sheepeheards bene)
    Theyr Pan theyr sheepe to them has sold,
    I saye as some haue seene.
    For Palinode (if thou him ken)
    yode late on Pilgrimage
    To Rome, (if such be Rome) and then
    he sawe thilke misusage.
    For shepeheards (sayd he) there doen leade,
    As Lordes done other where,
    Theyr sheepe han crustes, and they the bread:
    the chippes, and they the chere:
    They han the fleece, and eke the flesh,
    (O seely sheepe the while)
    The corn is theyrs, let other thresh,
    their hands they may not file.
    They han great stores, and thriftye stockes,
    great freendes and feeble foes:
    What neede hem caren for their flocks?
    theyr boyes can looke to those.
    These wisardsweltre in welths waues,
    pampred in pleasures deepe,
    They han fatte kernes, and leany knaues,
    their fasting flockes to keepe.
    Sike mister men bene all misgone,
    they heapen hylles of wrath:
    Sike syrly shepheards han we none,
    they keepen all the path.

    Here is a great deale of good matter,
    lost for lacke of telling,
    Now sicker I see, thou doest but clatter:
    harme may come of melling.
    Thou medlest more, then shall haue thanke,
    to wyten shepheards welth:
    When folke bene fat, and riches rancke,
    it is a signe of helth.
    But say to me, what is Algrin he,
    that is so oft bynempt.

    He is a shepheard great in gree,
    but hath bene long ypent.
    One daye he sat vpon a hyll,
    (as now thou wouldest me:
    But I am tought by Algrins ill,
    To loue the lowe degree.)
    For sitting so with bared scalpe,
    an Eagle sored hye,
    That weening hys whyte head was chalke,
    A shell fish downe let flye:
    Shee weend the shell fish to haue broake,
    but therewith bruzd his brayne,
    So now astonied with the stroke,
    he lyes in lingring payne.

    Ah good Algrin, his hap was ill,
    But shall be bett in time.
    Now farwell shepheard, sith thys hyll
    thou hast such doubt to climbe.

    Thomalins Embleme.
    In medio virtus.

    Morrells Embleme.
    In summo foelicitas read more »

  • 2.
    July in Washington -new-

    The stiff spokes of this wheel

    touch the sore spots of the earth.

    On the Potomac, swan-white
 read more »

  • 3.
    Fourth of July at Santa Ynez -new-

    Under the makeshift arbor of leaves
    a hot wind blowing smoke and laughter.
    Music out of the renegade west, read more »

  • 4.
    Answer July


    Answer July—
    Where is the Bee— read more »

  • 5.
    At Carnoy

    Down in the hollow there’s the whole Brigade
    Camped in four groups: through twilight falling slow
    I hear a sound of mouth-organs, ill-played,
    And murmur of voices, gruff, confused, and low. read more »

  • 6.
    Lines Composed A Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey

    Five years have past; five summers, with the length
    Of five long winters! and again I hear
    These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs
    With a soft inland murmur.--Once again read more »

  • 7.
    Inniskeen Road: July Evening

    The bicycles go by in twos and threes -
    There's a dance in Billy Brennan's barn to-night,
    And there's the half-talk code of mysteries
    And the wink-and-elbow language of delight. read more »

  • 8.
    To Mrs. Will. H. Low. -new-

    Even in the bluest noonday of July,
    There could not run the smallest breath of wind
    But all the quarter sounded like a wood;
    And in the chequered silence and above read more »

  • 9.
    Among The Trees -new-

    Oh ye who love to overhang the springs,
    And stand by running waters, ye whose boughs
    Make beautiful the rocks o'er which they play,
    Who pile with foliage the great hills, and rear read more »

  • 10.
    The Idler’s Calendar. Twelve Sonnets For The Months. July

    To the high breezes of the Goodwood Down
    London has fled, and there awhile forgets
    Its weariness of limb on lawns new--mown read more »

  • 11.
    A Corymbus For Autumn

    Hearken my chant, 'tis
    As a Bacchante's,
    A grape-spurt, a vine-splash, a tossed tress, flown vaunt 'tis!
    Suffer my singing, read more »

  • 12.
    London in July

    What ails my senses thus to cheat?
    What is it ails the place,
    That all the people in the street
    Should wear one woman's face? read more »

New July Poems

  1. Accum'd, Nicholas Crowson
  2. American Holidays, sherif monem
  3. 12th July, Alexander Onoja
  4. HAIKU 2, Cheryl Griffith
  5. Christmas in July, Marilyn Lott
  6. Do not leave us, Sadiqullah Khan
  7. Much Grief, Sadiqullah Khan
  8. Looking at the past, BrokenHeartPheko Motaung
  9. Surfers Beach, Nancy Terrell
  10. Those Good Tomatoes, Donal Mahoney
  11. THE W . . . . . R, A. P. Herbert
  12. Rites Of The Seventh Month, Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
  13. Havana Girls, Floral Flower
  14. Nature Of History, Masereka Amos
  15. July, Ruth Walters
  16. July, Vinz Poetry
  17. Summer Love (Haiku), Billy Lewis
  18. creepy visions, david gerardino
  19. July, Gregory Huyette
  20. Sometimes in June, Stella Omoregie
  21. The Seventh Month, Monty Gilmer
  22. The Fourth Of July (Love And Rockets Red.., Justin Gildow
  23. The 5th of July, Andrew Horsey
  24. July 21st,1980, Ricardo Antunes
  25. Young America, Carolyn Wells
  26. July, irum inayat
  27. July, Laa Finita
  28. The Sunny Months, Joyce Hemsley
  29. Autumn In July (rated in group), (brief renderings) Joe Fazio
  30. Only On This Day..., (brief renderings) Joe Fazio
  31. A Day Like No Other..., (brief renderings) Joe Fazio
  32. That Autumn Day In Mid July., (brief renderings) Joe Fazio
  33. Days Like This...Remind Me Of You, (brief renderings) Joe Fazio
  34. New York... Not In Autum, (brief renderings) Joe Fazio
  35. The Day...Was You, (brief renderings) Joe Fazio
  36. Mid July? Or Not, (brief renderings) Joe Fazio
  37. Autumn In July, (brief renderings) Joe Fazio
  38. *930 RUBY BIRTHSTONE OF JULY, John Knight
  39. My Heart Is In July, Niji Chrys
  40. Autumn...Will Never Be The Same, (brief renderings) Joe Fazio
  41. Autumn In July, Waldon Pond Productions
  42. I Will Smile, Tracey Tucker
  43. haiku - 216, Dagmara Anna AuraDagimar
  44. haiku - 202, Dagmara Anna AuraDagimar
  45. haiku - 193, Dagmara Anna AuraDagimar
  46. sunny spell (2), Maria Barbara Korynt
  47. July 4th, Roberto Fletchero
  48. ! JULY!, Rema Prasanaa
  49. ! SONG OF JULY!, Rema Prasanaa
  50. July, Gurpiar Sidhu
  51. July...., Natasha Ligons
  52. CANCER RISING, Aldo Kraas
  53. #83 Haiku Cotton Candy Clouds, A Poet Who Loves To Sing ... ..
  54. Who will save who?, Rm.Shanmugam Chettiar.
  55. # 62 Haiku Winter Night, A Poet Who Loves To Sing ... ..
  56. Hatred evokes pity, Rm.Shanmugam Chettiar.
  57. ! ! ! MIND (Haiku) ! ! !, Rema Prasanaa
  58. Today sounds like Yesterday...., Jessie Li here
  59. July, Assorted Thoughts
  60. Fourth of july., Roy Storey
  61. Haiku # 89 Copy Cat, Dorothy (Alves) Holmes
  62. Haiku #82 Listen To Your Heart, Dorothy (Alves) Holmes
  63. Haiku # 82 Listen To Your Heart, Dorothy (Alves) Holmes
  64. Haiku #81 Powder Puff Dreams, Dorothy (Alves) Holmes
  65. Fragment III, Kay Barcelon
  66. Three Haiku, Mary Naylor
  67. Haiku #76 Poetic Pause ****, Dorothy (Alves) Holmes
  68. Haiku #62 Winter Night, Dorothy (Alves) Holmes
  69. You Remind Me Of, TR Jones
  70. Damp Days, JoJo Bean
  71. Chronicles Of Wasted Time, JoJo Bean
  72. Goner Girl, Barry Van Allen
  73. Beginnings, David Harris
  74. It Was July, Vallerie Lobell
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