All Poems

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Davis Matlock

© Edgar Lee Masters

Suppose it is nothing but the hive:

That there are drones and workers

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Conrad Siever

© Edgar Lee Masters

Not in that wasted garden

Where bodies are drawn into grass

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Carl Hamblin

© Edgar Lee Masters

The press of the Spoon River Clarion was wrecked,

And I was tarred and feathered,

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Opening the Moorish Grate

© José Martí

Opening the moorish grate
To lean upon the wet sill,
Pale as the moon, and so still,
A lover ponders his fate.

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Once I was sailing for fun (Simple Verses XII)

© José Martí

Once I was sailing for fun
On a lake of great allure,
Like gold the sun shone so pure,
And my soul more than the sun.

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A Sincere Man Am I

© José Martí

A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.

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To Jose Mar?a Palacio

© Antonio Machado

Palacio, good friend,

is spring there

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Eye and Tooth

© Robert Lowell

My whole eye was sunset red,
the old cut cornea throbbed,
I saw things darkly,
as through an unwashed goldfish globe.

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Colloquy in Black Rock

© Robert Lowell

Here the jack-hammer jabs into the ocean;
My heart, you race and stagger and demand
More blood-gangs for your nigger-brass percussions,
Till I, the stunned machine of your devotion,
Clanging upon this cymbal of a hand,
Am rattled screw and footloose. All discussions

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Inheritance-His

© Audre Lorde

Does an image of return
wealthy and triumphant
warm your chilblained fingers
as you count coins in the Manhattan snow
or is it only Linda
who dreams of home?

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The Arrow And The Song

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.

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Song of the Silent Land

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

(Lied: Ins Stille Land)


BY JOHANN GAUDENZ VON SALIS-SEEWIS

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Sir Humphrey Gilbert

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Eastward from Campobello
Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed;
Three days or more seaward he bore,
Then, alas! the land-wind failed.

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Resignation

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

THERE is no flock however watched and tended
But one dead lamb is there!
There is no fireside howsoe'er defended
But has one vacant chair!

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Paul Revere's Ride

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Listen, my children, and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-Five:
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.

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What the Sexton Said

© Vachel Lindsay

Your dust will be upon the wind
Within some certain years,
Though you be sealed in lead to-day
Amid the country's tears.

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The Spider and the Ghost of the Fly

© Vachel Lindsay

Once I loved a spider

When I was born a fly,

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The Little Turtle

© Vachel Lindsay


There was a little turtle.
He lived in a box.
He swam in a puddle.
He climbed on the rocks.

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The Lion

© Vachel Lindsay

The Lion is a kingly beast.
He likes a Hindu for a feast.
And if no Hindu he can get,
The lion-family is upset.

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At Mass

© Vachel Lindsay

No doubt to-morrow I will hide
My face from you, my King.
Let me rejoice this Sunday noon,
And kneel while gray priests sing.