Be inspired by these Ardeen Foster poems. The poems were written in the late 1800s and early 1900s. A book was published in 1908 that has a collection of poems written by Ardeen. We hope they provide inspiration and motivationfor your day!
Popular Short Poems by Ardeen Foster Poems:
Master - Not Man
Poet: Ardeen Foster
Set no task for me! nor shall I do it
Set no task for me! lest you may rue it.
'Twere born of me to have my own good way,
No master will I serve at this late day.
No master rules me, nor will I be ruled,
So set no task - to tasks I've not been schooled.
Work out this little problem, if you can -
'Tis very simple - master serves no man:
Unless my heart might serve a worthy friend -
For his sweet sake, I'll go to earth's far end.
From red sunrise, till dark-time, knout in hand.
Ambition calls on me to make
The leap upon the road that I shall take:
Points out the men that built upon the sand,
And beckons me to shun the worthless band.
Arid climb the Phocis heights, for one whose sake
I'd lease my heart to Hell, if but to wake
Within the arbour of the Poet-Land.
Rot all frail drones! Nor waste an hour to spurn
The littleness that bribes great men to quail.
Hail! soul's ambition: nor from thee I turn.
Nor halt to hear the whining pessimist rail:
But pass with scorn the sneering dolts that burn
With spite and prophesy that I shall fail.
I court the braes and meadow-lands serene;
My lady-slipper, cock's-comb, phlox and dill;
And with my dogs I scale the sweet-breathed hill -
Breath sweet as of a maid of sweet sixteen.
Good-morrow, fields! I loathe the town's demesne.
I love the hissing locust, whippoorwill.
The sneaking cat-bird's mew, the skylark's trill;
The fragrance of my tansy, evergreen.
Nor would surrender my sweet poppy beds.
My hen-and-chickens, china-aster bine,
My prince's feathers with their lilac heads.
For all your town-bred roses! Give me mine -
My dew-wet marigold, the flower that weds
The incense of my honey-suckle vine.
As far ago, as on the Easter Morn,
When two sad Marys hailed the dancing sun,
And wept beside the sepulchre of One -
The One who sank beneath the traitors' scorn.
And died, that all men might again be born -
The lily was proclaimed the queen that day,
Having soft petals, nor a cruel thorn.
But fragrance like the breath of Maiden May.
The maiden in the blush of Easter morn,
Awakes to stroke her lily's pearly head:
"O, soothing harbinger of love that sleeps!
Were he but come, my heart would cease to ache.
A message! And from him! We are to wed.
My lily is in tears; for joy she weeps."