All Poems

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Jeremy Carlisle

© Edgar Lee Masters

Passer-by, sin beyond any sin
Is the sin of blindness of souls to other souls.
And joy beyond any joy is the joy
Of having the good in you seen, and seeing the good

To Mrs. M. B. On Her Birthday

© Alexander Pope

Oh be thou blest with all that Heav'n can send,

Long Health, long Youth, long Pleasure, and a Friend:

Willard Fluke

© Edgar Lee Masters

My wife lost her health,
And dwindled until she weighed scarce ninety pounds.
Then that woman, whom the men
Styled Cleopatra, came along.

Honey Dripping From The Comb

© James Whitcomb Riley

How slight a thing may set one's fancy drifting
Upon the dead sea of the Past!--A view--
Sometimes an odor--or a rooster lifting
A far-off "OOH! OOH-OOH!"

Willow

© Anna Akhmatova

And I grew up in patterned tranquillity,

In the cool nursery of the young century.

Rain In My Heart

© Edgar Lee Masters

There is a quiet in my heart
Like on who rests from days of pain.
Outside, the sparrows on the roof
Are chirping in the dripping rain.

Charitas Nimia; or, The Dear Bargain

© Richard Crashaw

Lord, what is man? why should he cost Thee
So dear? what had his ruin lost Thee?
Lord, what is man, that Thou hast over-bought
So much a thing of naught?

Fiddler Jones

© Edgar Lee Masters

The earth keeps some vibration going
There in your heart, and that is you.
And if the people find you can fiddle,
Why, fiddle you must and for all your life.

Winds Of The Morning

© Edgar Albert Guest

WINDS of the morning, whisper low,
Lingered you in the valley where
Sleeps my love of the Long Ago,
Under the pale green grasses there?

George Gray

© Edgar Lee Masters

I have studied many times
The marble which was chiseled for me --
A boat with a furled sail at rest in a harbor.
In truth it pictures not my destination

I Remember You As You Were

© Pablo Neruda

I remember you as you were in the last autumn.
You were the grey beret and the still heart.
In your eyes the flames of the twilight fought on.
And the leaves fell in the water of your soul.

Judson Stoddard

© Edgar Lee Masters

On a mountain top above the clouds
That streamed like a sea below me
I said that peak is the thought of Budda,
And that one is the prayer of Jesus,

The weary summer's all-consuming heat
Is tempered now; for from the frozen pole,
The freed north winds come fiercely rushing forth,
Wrapt in their mantles, misty, dim, and frore,
While the foul fever flies from Cuba's shore.

Andy the Night-Watch

In my Spanish cloak,
And old slouch hat,
And overshoes of felt,
And Tyke, my faithful dog,

The Sideboard

It is a high, carved sideboard made of oak.
The dark old wood, like old folks, seems kind;
Its drawers are open, and its odours soak
The darkness with the scent of strong old wine.