All Poems

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Proem

© James Whitcomb Riley

Where are they-- the Afterwhiles--

Luring us the lengthening miles

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Sonnet XXXVI: Thou Purblind Boy

© Michael Drayton

Cupid ConjuredThou purblind boy, since thou hast been so slack
To wound her heart, whose eyes have wounded me,
And suffer'd her to glory in my wrack,
Thus to my aid I lastly conjure thee:

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Dedication To Coventry Patmore.

© Francis Thompson

Lo, my book thinks to look Time's leaguer down,
Under the banner of your spread renown!
Or if these levies of impuissant rhyme
Fall to the overthrow of assaulting Time,
Yet this one page shall fend oblivious shame,
Armed with your crested and prevailing Name.

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Sonnet LV: My Fair, If Thou Wilt

© Michael Drayton

My Fair, if thou wilt register my love,
A world of volumes shall thereof arise;
Preserve my tears, and thou thyself shalt prove
A second flood, down-raining from mine eyes.

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Sharing

© Hristo Botev

Our feelings have made of us brothers
and our hidden thoughts have a same set,
I do not believe there's one thing
on this earth we shall come to regret.

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Sonnet XII: That Learned Father

© Michael Drayton

To the SoulThat learned Father, who so firmly proves
The Soul of man immortal and divine,
And doth the several offices define:
Anima - Gives her that name, as she the Body moves;

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Master Of Music

© Henry Van Dyke

Glory of architect, glory of painter, and sculptor, and bard,
  Living forever in temple and picture and statue and song, -
Look how the world with the lights that they lit is illumined and starred,
  Brief was the flame of their life, but the lamps of their art burn long!

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Sonnet XLIII: Why Should Your Fair Eyes

© Michael Drayton

Why should your fair eyes with such sovereign grace
Disperse their rays on every vulgar spirit,
Whilst I in darkness, in the self-same place,
Get not one glance to recompense my merit?

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On The World

© Jonathan Swift

WITH a whirl of thoughts oppress’d, 

I sunk from reverie to rest. 

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Sonnet XL: My Heart the Anvil

© Michael Drayton

My heart the anvil where my thoughts do beat;
My words the hammers fashioning my desire;
My breast the forge including all the heat;
Love is the fuel which maintains the fire;

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A Farewell to the World

© Benjamin Jonson

FALSE world, good night! since thou hast brought
  That hour upon my morn of age;
Henceforth I quit thee from my thought,
  My part is ended on thy stage.

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Sonnet XLI: Why Do I Speak of Joy

© Michael Drayton

Love's LunacyWhy do I speak of joy, or write of love,
When my heart is the very den of horror,
And in my soul the pains of Hell I prove,
With all his torments and infernal terror?

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Rhyme Against Living

© Dorothy Parker

If wild my breast and sore my pride,
 I bask in dreams of suicide;
If cool my heart and high my head,
 I think, "How lucky are the dead!"

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Sonnet LIII: Clear Anker

© Michael Drayton

Another to the River AnkerClear Anker, on whose silver-sanded shore
My soul-shrin'd saint, my fair Idea, lies,
O blessed brook, whose milk-white swans adore
The crystal stream refined by her eyes,

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Sonnet XLIX: Thou Leaden Brain

© Michael Drayton

Thou leaden brain, which censur'st what I write,
And say'st my lines be dull and do not move,
I marvel not thou feel'st not my delight,
Which never felt'st my fiery touch of love.

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Coeur De Lion

© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik

I.
RICHARD the Lion-hearted, crowned serene
With the true royalty of perfect man;
Seated in stone above the praise or ban

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Parting

© Rainer Maria Rilke

How I have felt that thing that's called 'to part',
and feel it still: a dark, invincible,
cruel something by which what was joined so well
is once more shown, held out, and torn apart.

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Sonnet XXXI: Methinks I See

© Michael Drayton

To the CriticMethinks I see some crooked mimic jeer,
And tax my Muse with this fantastic grace,
Turning my papers asks, "What have we here?"
Making withal some filthy antic face.

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Rosaline

© Thomas Lodge

  Like to the clear in highest sphere

  Where all imperial glory shines,

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Sonnet X: To Nothing Fitter

© Michael Drayton

To nothing fitter can I thee compare
Than to the son of some rich penny-father,
Who, having now brought on his end with care,
Leaves to his son all he had heap'd together;