Poems with rhymes of shorn

No bird sang then; no thorn,
No tree was green beside
Them only never shorn -

His dangling tresses, that were never shorn,
Had they been cut, and unto Colchos borne,

And now Eliza's purple Locks were shorn,
Where she so long her Fathers fate had worn:

Ah woful day! ah woful noon and morn!
When first by thee my younglings white were shorn,

“We” have brought the states together, a land to the lands new born.
We have worked in the glorious weather, we have garnered and reaped and shorn.

Sort of BRITISH WORKMAN nonsense that shall perish in the scorn
Of the drover who is driven and the shearer who is shorn,

And solemnly sworn
To avenge her flag, by the traitors torn,
Of its ancient glory shamefully shorn.

While, from tombs of heroes borne,
From the dust of empire shorn,

Fields long shorn
Of bearded barley and golden corn.

The Eternal Fulness meted, clipped, and shorn,
The seamless robe of equal mercy torn,

In the green woods, and meadows summer-shorn,
Or fields, where bee-fly greets
The ear with mellow horn.

Have held too much, they patterned hills are over shorn
Of all their one-time freshness. Loud alarms
And trampling tread have left thee stained and torn,

In wildflowers fertile, as thy fields of corn,
And frolicksome as lambs, or sheep new shorn.

Mute was the mavis, moulted was the thorn,
Meads were cut, and lambs were shorn,

O'er wreaths of honour early shorn,
Before thy sweet and guiltless eye
Had open'd on the dawn of morn!

Why does the chilling Winter's morn
Smile, like a field beset with corn?
Or smell, like to a mead new-shorn,

Ere half of the road to the river was shorn
The sunbeam smote the twisted thorn.

Fields long shorn
Of bearded barley and golden corn.

Whose grisled Beards are neither comb'd nor shorn,
But look severe, and horribly adorn.

Caught from the early sobbing of the morn.
The clouds were pure and white as flocks new shorn,