Great poems

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From The Upland To The Sea

© William Morris

Shall we wake one morn of spring,

Glad at heart of everything,

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Yadwigha, On A Red Couch, Among Lillies

© Sylvia Plath

Yadwigha, the literalists once wondered how you
Came to be lying on this baroque couch
Upholstered in red velvet, under the eye
Of uncaged tigers and a tropical moon,
Set in intricate wilderness of green
Heart-shaped leaves, like catalpa leaves, and lillies

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The Poor Of The Borough. Letter XX: Ellen Orford

© George Crabbe

"No charms she now can boast,"--'tis true,

But other charmers wither too:

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An Ode - Inscribed To The Memory Of The Hon. Colonel George Villiers

© Matthew Prior

For restless Proserpine for ever treads
In paths unseen, o'er our devoted heads,
And on the spacious land and liquid main
Spreads slow disease, or darts afflictive pain:
Variety of deaths confirms her endless reign.

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Thieves' Kitchen

© Kenneth Slessor

GOOD roaring pistol-boys, brave lads of gold,
Good roistering easy maids, blown cock-a-hoop
On floods of tavern-steam, I greet you! Drunk
With wild Canary, drowned in wines of old,

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You Men

© Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz

(Español)
 Hombres necios que acusáis
a la mujer sin razón,
sin ver que sois la ocasión
de lo mismo que culpáis:

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Glenfinlas; or, Lord Ronald's Coronach

© Sir Walter Scott

"O hone a rie'! O hone a rie!"
The pride of Albin's line is o'er,
And fall'n Glenartney's stateliest tree;
We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more!" -

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Lovers And A Reflection

© Charles Stuart Calverley

In moss-prankt dells which the sunbeams flatter
  (And heaven it knoweth what that may mean;
Meaning, however, is no great matter)
  Where woods are a-tremble with words a-tween.

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Kitchen Poem

© Francis Scarfe


In the hungry kitchen
The dog sings for its dinner.
The housewife is writing her poem
On top of the frigidaire
Something like this:

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A Lost Chance.

© James Brunton Stephens

[IT is stated that a shepherd, who had for many years grazed his flocks

in a district in which a rich tin-mining town in Queensland now stands,

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The Moon And The Yew Tree

© Sylvia Plath

"This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary.
The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue.
The grasses unload their griefs at my feet as if I were God,
Prickling my ankles and murmuring of their humility.

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The Joys We Miss

© Edgar Albert Guest


There never comes a lonely day but that we miss the laughing ways
Of those who used to walk with us through all our happy yesterdays.
We seldom miss the earthly great-the famous men that life has known-
But, as the years go racing by, we miss the friends we used to own.

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Madona Mia

© Algernon Charles Swinburne

UNDER green apple-boughs

That never a storm will rouse,

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On The Death Of Prince Meshchersky

© Gavrila Romanovich Derzhavin

O, Voice of time! O, metal's clang!

Your dreadful call distresses me,

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Maha-Bharata, The Epic Of Ancient India - Book V - Pativrata-Mahatmya - (Woman's Love)

© Romesh Chunder Dutt

The great _rishi_ Vyasa came to visit Yudhishthir, and advised Arjun,
great archer as he was, to acquire celestial arms by penance and
worship. Arjun followed the advice, met the god SIVA in the guise
of a hunter, pleased him by his prowess in combat, and obtained his
blessings and the _pasupata_ weapon. Arjun then went to INDRA'S
heaven and obtained other celestial arms.

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The Moon

© James Russell Lowell

So was my soul; but when 'twas full
  Of unrest to o'erloading,
A voice of something beautiful
  Whispered a dim foreboding,
And yet so soft, so sweet, so low,
It had not more of joy than woe;

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The Loving Shepherdess

© Robinson Jeffers

  She dreamed that a two-legged whiff of flame
Rose up from the house gable-peak crying, "Oh! Oh!"
And doubled in the middle and fled away on the wind
Like music above the bee-hives.

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The Duke and the Duchess

© William Schwenck Gilbert

[THE DUKE.]

Small titles and orders

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On Memphis Station

© Johannes Vilhelm Jensen

Half awake and half dozing,
Struck by a drear reality, but still lost
In an inner sea fog of Danaidean dreams
I stand teeth chattering
On Memphis Station, Tennessee.
It is raining.

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Hyperion. Book I

© John Keats

Deep in the shady sadness of a vale

Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn,