Thou Art Not Lovelier Than Lilacs, - No - Edna St. Vincent Millay - Sonnet 18
THOU art not lovelier than lilacs,—no,
Nor honeysuckle; thou art not more fair
Than small white single poppies,—I can bear
Thy beauty; though I bend before thee, though
From left to right, not knowing where to go,
I turn my troubled eyes, nor here nor there
Find any refuge from thee, yet I swear
So has it been with mist,—with moonlight so.
Like him who day by day unto his draught
Of delicate poison adds him one drop more
Till he may drink unharmed the death of ten,
Even so, inured to beauty, who have quaffed
Each hour more deeply than the hour before,
I drink—and live—what has destroyed some men.
The Queen of Hearts - Christina Rossetti
The Tell-Tale Heart Edgar Allan Poe
Ode 314 - Rumi
Those who don't feel this Love
pulling them like a river,
those who don't drink dawn
like a cup of spring water
or take in sunset like supper,
those who don't want to change,
let them sleep.
This Love is beyond the study of theology,
that old trickery and hypocrisy.
I you want to improve your mind that way,
I've given up on my brain.
I've torn the cloth to shreds
and thrown it away.
If you're not completely naked,
wrap your beautiful robe of words
The Old Familiar Faces Charles Lamb
My Shadow - Robert Louis Stevenson
Laughing Corn - Carl Sandburg
THERE was a high majestic fooling
Day before yesterday in the yellow corn.
And day after to-morrow in the yellow corn
There will be high majestic fooling.
The ears ripen in late summer 5
And come on with a conquering laughter,
Come on with a high and conquering laughter.
The long-tailed blackbirds are hoarse.
One of the smaller blackbirds chitters on a stalk
And a spot of red is on its shoulder 10
And I never heard its name in my life.
Some of the ears are bursting.
A white juice works inside.
Cornsilk creeps in the end and dangles in the wind.
Always—I never knew it any other way— 15
The wind and the corn talk things over together.
And the rain and the corn and the sun and the corn
Talk things over together.
Over the road is the farmhouse.
The siding is white and a green blind is slung loose. 20
It will not be fixed till the corn is husked.
The farmer and his wife talk things over together.
The Road Not Taken Robert Frost
The Wreck of the Hesperus Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The Lament of the Irish Emigrant Helen Selina
Love and Age Thomas Love Peacock
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock T. S. Eliot
The Last Rose of Summer - Thomas Moore
Jenny Kissed Me Leigh Hunt
Kubla Khan Samuel Taylor Coleridge
I Died For Beauty, But Was Scarce - Emily Dickinson
Heat - Hilda Doolittle
O wind, rend open the heat,
cut apart the heat,
rend it to tatters.
Fruit cannot drop
through this thick air--
fruit cannot fall into heat
that presses up and blunts
the points of pears
and rounds the grapes.
Cut the heat--
plough through it,
turning it on either side
of your path.
How They Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix Robert Browning
A Dead Boche - Robert Graves
To you who’d read my songs of War
And only hear of blood and fame,
I’ll say (you’ve heard it said before)
”War’s Hell!” and if you doubt the same,
Today I found in Mametz Wood
A certain cure for lust of blood:
Where, propped against a shattered trunk,
In a great mess of things unclean,
Sat a dead Boche; he scowled and stunk
With clothes and face a sodden green,
Big-bellied, spectacled, crop-haired,
Dribbling black blood from nose and beard.
Dover Beach Matthew Arnold
Dulce et Decorum est Wilfred Owen
For Annie Edgar Allan Poe
The Artilleryman Walt Whitman
As Kingfishers Catch Fire Gerard Manley Hopkins
Because I Could Not Stop For Death - Emily Dickinson
Casabianca Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Christmas Bells Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Daffodils William Wordsworth
Abou Ben Adhem - Leigh Hunt
Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold:—
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the presence in the room he said,
"What writest thou?"—The vision raised its head,
And with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord."
"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow men."
The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night
It came again with a great wakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blest,
And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.
Short Poetry Collection 001
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