Dreams poems

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Dover Beach

© Matthew Arnold

Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the Ægean, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.

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Lines. "In visions countless as the golden motes"

© Frances Anne Kemble

In visions countless as the golden motes

  That dance upon the sun's earth-kissing beams,

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The Mothering Blackness

© Jon Anderson

She came home running
  back to the mothering blackness 
  deep in the smothering blackness
white tears icicle gold plains of her face 
  She came home running

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To-- Oh! there are spirits of the air

© Percy Bysshe Shelley

Oh! there are spirits of the air,
And genii of the evening breeze,
And gentle ghosts, with eyes as fair
As star-beams among twilight trees:—
Such lovely ministers to meet
Oft hast thou turned from men thy lonely feet.

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The Candidate

© Charles Churchill

This poem was written in , on occasion of the contest between the

  Earls of Hardwicke and Sandwich for the High-stewardship of the

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A Salutation

© Louise Imogen Guiney

High-hearted Surrey! I do love your ways,

Venturous, frank, romantic, vehement,

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Where the Blue Begins

© Sonia Sanchez

In the southern Adriatic, where the blue begins, 

We came to rest awhile and play

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The Shepherds Calendar - January- Winters Day

© John Clare

Withering and keen the winter comes
While comfort flyes to close shut rooms
And sees the snow in feathers pass
Winnowing by the window glass

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The Love Of Narcissus

© Alice Meynell

His dreams are far among the silent hills;
  His vague voice calls him from the darkened plain
With winds at night; strange recognition thrills
  His lonely heart with piercing love and pain;
He knows his sweet mirth in the mountain rills,
  His weary tears that touch him with the rain.

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The Wanderer: A Vision: Canto III

© Richard Savage


Ye traytors, tyrants, fear his stinging lay!
Ye pow'rs unlov'd, unpity'd in decay!
But know, to you sweet-blossom'd Fame he brings,
Ye heroes, patriots, and paternal kings!

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Lancelot And Elaine

© Alfred Tennyson

How came the lily maid by that good shield
Of Lancelot, she that knew not even his name?
He left it with her, when he rode to tilt
For the great diamond in the diamond jousts,
Which Arthur had ordained, and by that name
Had named them, since a diamond was the prize.

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Definition of the Frontiers

© Archibald MacLeish

First there is the wind but not like the familiar wind but long and without lapses or falling away or surges of air as is usual but rather like the persistent pressure of a river or a running tide.
 This wind is from the other side and has an odor unlike the odor of the winds with us but like time if time had odor and were cold and carried a bitter and sharp taste like rust on the taste of snow or the fragrance of thunder.
 When the air has this taste of time the frontiers are not far from us.
 Then too there are the animals. There are always animals under the small trees. They belong neither to our side nor to theirs but are wild and because they are animals of such kind that wildness is unfamiliar in them as the horse for example or the goat and often sheep and dogs and like creatures their wandering there is strange and even terrifying signaling as it does the violation of custom and the subversion of order.

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Hudibras: Part 3 - Canto III

© Samuel Butler

What made thee, when they all were gone,
And none but thou and I alone,
To act the Devil, and forbear
To rid me of my hellish fear?

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Insomnia

© Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Thin are the night-skirts left behind


 By daybreak hours that onward creep,

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The Garden By Moonlight

© Amy Lowell

A black cat among roses,

Phlox, lilac-misted under a first-quarter moon,

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Wasted Days

© Oscar Wilde

A fair slim boy not made for this world's pain.

With hair of gold thick clustering round his ears,

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The Troubadour. Canto 4

© Letitia Elizabeth Landon

But he was safe!--that very day
Farewell, it had been her's to say;
And he was gone to his own land,
To seek another maiden's hand.

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Flower Of Aloe

© Edith Nesbit

HOW can I tell you how I love you, dear?
  There is no music now the world is old;
  The songs have all been sung, the tales all told
Broken the vows are all this many a year.

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The Dragon And The Undying

© Siegfried Sassoon

All night the flares go up; the Dragon sings

And beats upon the dark with furious wings;