All Poems

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When You Are On The Sea

© Dora Sigerson Shorter

How can I laugh or dance as others do,

Or ply my rock or reel?

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My Butterfly

© Robert Frost

When that was, the soft mist
Of my regret hung not on all the land,
And I was glad for thee,
And glad for me, I wist.

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The Greeting of the Roses

© Hamlin Garland

WE had been long in mountain snow,

In valleys bleak, and broad, and bare,

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Maple

© Robert Frost

Her teacher's certainty it must be Mabel
Made Maple first take notice of her name.
She asked her father and he told her, "Maple—
Maple is right."

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Lodged

© Robert Frost

The rain to the wind said,
'You push and I'll pelt.'
They so smote the garden bed
That the flowers actually knelt,
And lay lodged--though not dead.
I know how the flowers felt.

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Bond and Free

© Robert Frost

Love has earth to which she clings
With hills and circling arms about--
Wall within wall to shut fear out.
But Though has need of no such things,
For Thought has a pair of dauntless wings.

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Ourselves were wed one summer—dear

© Emily Dickinson

Ourselves were wed one summer—dear—
Your Vision—was in June—
And when Your little Lifetime failed,
I wearied—too—of mine—

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Blueberries

© Robert Frost

"You ought to have seen what I saw on my way
To the village, through Mortenson's pasture to-day:
Blueberries as big as the end of your thumb,
Real sky-blue, and heavy, and ready to drum

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The Voice Of The Man Impatient With Visions And Utopias

© Vachel Lindsay

We find your soft Utopias as white

As new-cut bread, and dull as life in cells,

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Blue-Butterfly Day

© Robert Frost

It is blue-butterfly day here in spring,
And with these sky-flakes down in flurry on flurry
There is more unmixed color on the wing
Than flowers will show for days unless they hurry.

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Thou Blessed Dream

© Swami Vivekananda

If things go ill or well-
If joy rebounding spreads the face,
Or sea of sorrows swells-
It is a dream, a play.

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Atmosphere

© Robert Frost

Winds blow the open grassy places bleak;
But where this old wall burns a sunny cheek,
They eddy over it too toppling weak
To blow the earth or anything self-clear;
Moisture and color and odor thicken here.
The hours of daylight gather atmosphere.

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By The Lake

© Du Fu

The old fellow from Shao-ling weeps with stifled sobs as he walks furtively by the bends of the Sepentine on a day in spring.
In the waterside palaces the thousands of doors are locked. For whom have the willows and rushed put on their fresh greenery?
I remember how formerly, when the Emperor's rainbow banner made its way into the South Park, everything in the park seemed to bloom with a brighter color. The First Lady of the Chao-yang Palace rode in the same carriage as her lord in
attendance at his side, while before the carriage rode maids of honour equipped with bows and arrows, their white horses champing at golden bits.

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An Epitaph

© Andrew Marvell

ENOUGH; and leave the rest to Fame!
'Tis to commend her, but to name.
Courtship which, living, she declined,
When dead, to offer were unkind:
Nor can the truest wit, or friend,
Without detracting, her commend.

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A Winter Eden

© Robert Frost

A winter garden in an alder swamp,
Where conies now come out to sun and romp,
As near a paradise as it can be
And not melt snow or start a dormant tree.

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Even-Song

© Oliver Wendell Holmes

IT may be, yes, it must be, Time that brings

An end to mortal things,

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A Servant to Servants

© Robert Frost

I didn't make you know how glad I was
To have you come and camp here on our land.
I promised myself to get down some day
And see the way you lived, but I don't know!

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Sonnet XLVII: Broken Music

© Dante Gabriel Rossetti

The mother will not turn, who thinks she hears

Her nursling's speech first grow articulate;

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"In White": Frost's Early Version Of Design

© Robert Frost

What had that flower to do with being white,
The blue prunella every child's delight.
What brought the kindred spider to that height?
(Make we no thesis of the miller's plight.)
What but design of darkness and of night?
Design, design! Do I use the word aright?

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The Mountains of Mourne

© William Percy French

Oh, Mary, this London's a wonderful sight

With people here working by day and by night