Dating poems

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I cannot see my soul but know 'tis there

© Emily Dickinson

I cannot see my soul but know 'tis there
Nor ever saw his house nor furniture,
Who has invited me with him to dwell;
But a confiding guest consult as well,

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By The Fire-Side

© Robert Browning

How well I know what I mean to do
When the long dark autumn-evenings come:
And where, my soul, is thy pleasant hue?
With the music of all thy voices, dumb
In life's November too!

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Sex With A Famous Poet

© Denise Duhamel

I had sex with a famous poet last night
and when I rolled over and found myself beside him I shuddered
because I was married to someone else,
because I wasn't supposed to have been drinking,

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Yes

© Denise Duhamel

According to Culture Shock:
A Guide to Customs and Etiquette
of Filipinos, when my husband says yes,
he could also mean one of the following:

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Ode To Modern Art

© David Lehman

Come on in and stay a while
I'll photograph you emerging from the revolving door
like Frank O'Hara dating the muse of modern art
Talking about the big Pollock show is better

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The Star-Splitter

© Robert Frost

We've looked and looked, but after all where are we?
Do we know any better where we are,
And how it stands between the night tonight
And a man with a smoky lantern chimney?
How different from the way it ever stood?

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To E. Fitzgerald: Tiresias

© Alfred Tennyson

.   OLD FITZ, who from your suburb grange,

  Where once I tarried for a while,

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The Dream

© Caroline Norton

Ah! bless'd are they for whom 'mid all their pains
That faithful and unalter'd love remains;
Who, Life wreck'd round them,--hunted from their rest,--
And, by all else forsaken or distress'd,--
Claim, in one heart, their sanctuary and shrine--
As I, my Mother, claim'd my place in thine!

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Nights on Planet Earth

© Louis Zukofsky

Heaven was originally precisely that: the starry sky, dating back to the earliest Egyptian texts, which include magic spells that enable the soul to be sewn in the body of the great mother, Nut, literally "night," like the seed of a plant, which is also a jewel and a star. The Greek Elysian fields derive from the same celestial topography: the Egyptian "Field of Rushes," the eastern stars at dawn where the soul goes to be purified. That there is another, mirror world, a world of light, and that this world is simply the sky—and a step further, the breath of the sky, the weather, the very air—is a formative belief of great antiquity that has continued to the present day with the godhead becoming brightness itself: dios/theos (Greek); deus/divine/diana (Latin); devas (Sanskrit); daha (Arabic); day (English).
—Susan Brind Morrow, Wolves and Honey
1

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Happiness (Reconsidered)

© Judith Viorst

Happiness
  Is a clean bill of health from the doctor,
  And the kids shouldn't move back home for
  more than a year,
  And not being audited, overdrawn, in Wilkes-Barre,
  in a lawsuit or in traction.

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The Child Of The Islands - Conclusion

© Caroline Norton

I.
MY lay is ended! closed the circling year,
From Spring's first dawn to Winter's darkling night;
The moan of sorrow, and the sigh of fear,

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Violin And A Little Nervous

© Vladimir Mayakovsky

Violin was torn to pieces begging,
And then broke out in tears
So childishly,
That Drum couldn't handle it any longer,
“It's all right, it's all right, it's all right!” He got tired, Not hearing out Violin's speech, and Sneaked out to the Kuznetsky, And made off. The orchestra looked strangely, as Violin cried herself out — Wordless — Without tempo — And only somewhere Foolish Cymbals Were banging out: “What is it?” “How is it?” Then when Helicon — Copper-faced — Sweating — Shouted: “Stupid! Softy! Wipe it off!” I got up, Shaking, crawled over the notes, Bending low under the horror of the pupitre, For some reason cried out, “Oh, God!” Threw myself at her wooden neck, “Violin, you know? We are so alike: I do also Shout — But still can not prove anything either!” The musicians are laughing: “Gotcha! He's dating a wooden girlfriend! Smart one, ha!” I don't give a damn! I am worthy! “You know what, Violin? Why don't we — Move in together! Ha?”

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Blue Blood

© William Schwenck Gilbert

Spurn not the nobly born

With love affected,

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Don Juan: Canto The First

© George Gordon Byron

I want a hero: an uncommon want,

When every year and month sends forth a new one,

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Doing And Making

© Robert Laurence Binyon

I am weary of doing and dating
The day with the thing to be done,
This painful self translating
To a language not my own.

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The Plea Of The Midsummer Fairies

© Thomas Hood

I
'Twas in that mellow season of the year
When the hot sun singes the yellow leaves
Till they be gold,—and with a broader sphere