Bitter the word. Bitter, meadow I am walking in.Bitter breeze filters through birch foliage.Each leaf flinches. Cherish me todayFor I am a vetch crisp & uncorrected.

Thou wringest, with thy invisible hand, the foam Out of the emerald drapery of the sea,Beneath whose foldings lies the Sea-Nymph's home -- Lifted, to make it visible, by thee;Till thou art exiled, earthward, from the maine,To cool the parched tongue of the Earth with rain

Lily Adair

© Chivers Thomas Holley

On the beryl-rimmed rebecs of Ruby, Brought fresh from the hyaline streams,She played, on the banks of the Yuba, Such songs as she heard in her dreams

The New-England Boy's Song about Thanksgiving Day

© Child Lydia Maria

Over the river, and through the wood, To grandfather's house we go; The horse knows the way, To carry the sleigh, Through the white and drifted snow.

The Triumph of Love

© Govinda Krishna Chettur

Dearest, and yet more dear than I can tell In these poor halting rhymes, when, word by word, You spell the passion that your beauty stirredSwiftly to flame, and holds me as a spell,You will not think he writeth "ill" or "well", Nor question make of the fond truths averred, But Love, of that, by Love's self charactered, A perfect understanding shall impel

Answers to the Poets

© Gilbert Keith Chesterton

(As it might have appeared to Byron)

Elegy over a Tomb

© Edward Herbert

Must I then see, alas, eternal night Sitting upon those fairest eyes,And closing all those beams, which once did rise So radiant and brightThat light and heat in them to us did prove Knowledge and love?

Oh, if you did delight no more to stay Upon this low and earthly stage,But rather chose an endless heritage, Tell us at least, we pray,Where all the beauties that those ashes ow'd Are now bestow'd

Ode la Jeune Captive

"L'épi naissant mûrit de la faux respecté;Sans crainte du pressoir, le pampre tout l'été Boit les doux présents de l'aurore;Et moi, comme lui belle, et jeune comme lui,Quoi que l'heure présente ait de trouble et d'ennui, Je ne veux point mourir encore

Yowr Yen Two Woll Sle me Sodenly

Yowr yen two woll sle me sodenly.I may the beaute of them not susteneSo wondeth it thorow out my herte kene.

The Wife of Bath's Prologue and Tale in the Hengwrt Manuscript of the Canterbury Tales

{{Folio 58r}}¶Here bigynneth the prologe of the taleof the Wyf of BatheEXperience / thogh noon AuctoriteeWere in this world / is right ynogh for meTo speke of wo / that is in mariageffor lordynges / sith
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I twelf yeer was of ageThonked be god / that is eterne on lyueHou{s}bondes atte chirche dore / I haue had fyueIf I so ofte / myghte han wedded beAnd alle were worthy men / in hir degreeBut me was told certeyn / noght longe agon isThat sith
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