All Poems

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Some Beasts

© Pablo Neruda

A monkey is weaving
a thread of insatiable lusts
on the margins of morning:
he topples a pollen-fall,
startles the violet-flight
of the butterfly, wings on the Muzo.

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Banking Coal

© Jean Toomer

Whoever it was who brought the first wood and coal

To start the Fire, did his part well;

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On Bishop Atterbury's Burying The Duke Of Buckingham, 1721

© Matthew Prior

I have no hopes, the Duke he says, and dies.

In sure and certain hopes - the prelate cries:

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To the Consolations of Philosophy

© William Stanley Merwin

I know you will say
I have said that before
I know you have been
there all along somewhere
in another time zone

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Atra Cura

© William Makepeace Thackeray

Before I lost my five poor wits,
I mind me of a Romish clerk,
Who sang how Care, the phantom dark,
Beside the belted horseman sits.
Methought I saw the grisly sprite
Jump up but now behind my Knight.

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1914 IV. The Dead

© Rupert Brooke

There are waters blown by changing winds to laughter
And lit by the rich skies, all day. And after,
 Frost, with a gesture, stays the waves that dance
And wandering loveliness. He leaves a white
 Unbroken glory, a gathered radiance,
A width, a shining peace, under the night.

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Songs Set To Music: 11. Set By Mr. De Fesch

© Matthew Prior

Morella, charming without art,
And kind without design,
Can never lose the smallest part
Of such a heart as mine.

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(“With a glance of your eyes...”)

© Anselm Hollo

With a glance of your eyes you could plunder all the wealth of songs struck from poets’ harps, fair woman!
But for their praises you have no ear; therefore do I come to praise you.
You could humble at your feet the proudest heads of all the world;
But it is your loved ones, unknown to fame, whom you choose to worship; therefore I worship you.
Your perfect arms would add glory to kingly splendor with their touch;
But you use them to sweep away the dust, and to make clean your humble home; therefore I am filled with awe.

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Prologue

© Heinrich Heine

Good-Fortune is a giddy maid,
Fickle and restless as a fawn;
She smoothes your hair; and then the jade
Kisses you quickly, and is gone.

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God

© Khalil Gibran

In the ancient days, when the first quiver of speech came to my lips, I ascended the holy mountain and spoke unto God, saying, "Master, I am thy slave. Thy hidden will is my law and I shall obey thee for ever more."

But God made no answer, and like a mighty tempest passed away.

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Sonnet 38: This Night While Sleep Begins

© Sir Philip Sidney

This night while sleep begins with heavy wings
To hatch mine eyes, and that unbitted thought
Doth fall to stray, and my chief powers are brought
To leave the scepter of all subject things,

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In November

© Paul Eluard

Outside the house the wind is howling

and the trees are creaking horribly.

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Die Schone Wittwe

© Charles Godfrey Leland

(DE POOTY VIDOW.)
I. VOT DE YANKEE CHAP SUNG.
DAT pooty liddle vidow
Vot ve dosh'nt vish to name,

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Cherry-Ripe

© Thomas Campion

There is a garden in her face
 Where roses and white lilies blow;
A heavenly paradise is that place,
 Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow:
 There cherries grow which none may buy
 Till “Cherry-ripe” themselves do cry.

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Forward Ho!

© Charles Harpur

Forward ho! Forward ho! Soldiers of liberty,

Hope on; fight on; till man’s whole race shall be

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There Was A Child Went Forth

© Walt Whitman

THERE was a child went forth every day;
And the first object he look'd upon, that object he became;
And that object became part of him for the day, or a certain part of
  the day, or for many years, or stretching cycles of years.

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One Girl

© Sappho

  I
Like the sweet apple which reddens upon the topmost bough,
Atop on the topmost twig, — which the pluckers forgot, somehow, —
Forget it not, nay; but got it not, for none could get it till now.

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Limerick: There was an old person of Troy

© Edward Lear

There was an old person of Troy,
Whose drink was warm brandy and soy,
Which he took with a spoon,
By the light of the moon,
In sight of the city of Troy.

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Mrs. Hill

© Boris Pasternak

I am so young that I am still in love
with Battle Creek, Michigan: decoder rings,
submarines powered by baking soda, 
whistles that only dogs can hear. Actually, 
not even them. Nobody can hear them.

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Alone

© John Hall Wheelock

Ah, never in all my life  

 Have I ever fled away