All Poems
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Tho' I get home how latehow late
© Emily Dickinson
To think just how the fire will burn
Just how long-cheated eyes will turn
To wonder what myself will say,
And what itself, will say to me
Beguiles the Centuries of way!
The Ballad Of The Taylor Pup
© Eugene Field
Now lithe and listen, gentles all,
Now lithe ye all and hark
Unto a ballad I shall sing
About Buena Park.
Grace
© Joy Harjo
Like Coyote, like Rabbit, we could not contain our terror and clowned our way through a season of false midnights. We had to swallow that town with laughter, so it would go down easy as honey. And one morning as the sun struggled to break ice, and our dreams had found us with coffee and pancakes in a truck stop along Highway 80, we found grace.
I could say grace was a woman with time on her hands, or a white buffalo escaped from memory. But in that dingy light it was a promise of balance. We once again understood the talk of animals, and spring was lean and hungry with the hope of children and corn.
I would like to say, with grace, we picked ourselves up and walked into the spring thaw. We didn’t; the next season was worse. You went home to Leech Lake to work with the tribe and I went south. And, Wind, I am still crazy. I know there is something larger than the memory of a dispossessed people. We have seen it.
A Single Smile
© Paul Eluard
A single smile disputes
Each star with the gathering night
A single smile for us both
Better or Worse
© Heather McHugh
Daily, the kindergarteners
passed my porch. I loved
their likeness and variety,
their selves in line like little
monosyllables, but huggable—
I wasn't meant
Deaf-Mute in the Pear Tree
© P. K. Page
Sun ruddying tree’s trunk, his trunk
his massive head thick-nobbed with burnished curls
tight-clenched in bud
Mary Had A Little Frog
© Ellis Parker Butler
Mary had a little frog
And it was water-soaked,
But Mary did not keep it long
Because, of course, it croaked!
To the Fringed Gentian
© William Cullen Bryant
Thou blossom bright with autumn dew,
And colored with the heaven's own blue,
That openest when the quiet light
Succeeds the keen and frosty night.
Retroduction to American History
© Allen Tate
Cats walk the floor at midnight; that enemy of fog,
The moon, wraps the bedpost in receding stillness; sleep
Collects all weary nothings and lugs away the towers,
The pinnacles of dust that feed the subway.
The Combe
© Edward Thomas
The Combe was ever dark, ancient and dark.
Its mouth is stopped with brambles, thorn, and briar;
Mugging (I)
© Allen Ginsberg
I
Tonite I walked out of my red apartment door on East tenth street’s dusk—
While the woods were green
© Augusta Davies Webster
WHILE the woods were green,
"Oh I" she sang, "my heart is new,
Leaping, longing, in my breast:
Let him come that loves me true,
Hymn For Christmas Day
© John Byrom
Christians awake, salute the happy morn,
Whereon the saviour of the world was born;
Washing Day
© Bliss William Carman
The Muses are turned gossips; they have lost
The buskined step, and clear high-sounding phrase,
An Old Road
© Edwin Markham
A host of poppies, a flight of swallows;
A flurry of rain, and a wind that follows
Shepherds the leaves in the sheltered hollows
For the forest is shaken and thinned.
Critic and Poet: an Epilogue
© Emma Lazarus
Oh deeper, higher than he could divine
That all-unearthly, untaught strain! He saw
The plain, brown warbler, unabashed. "Not mine"
(He cried) "the error of this fatal flaw.
No bird is this, it soars beyond my line,
Were it a bird, 'twould answer to my law."
