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Upon The Bee

© John Bunyan

The bee goes out, and honey home doth bring,
And some who seek that honey find a sting.
Now would'st thou have the honey, and be free
From stinging, in the first place kill the bee.

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My Soul And I

© Edgar Albert Guest

When winter shuts a fellow in and turns the lock upon his door,
There's nothing else for him to do but sit and dream his bygones o'er.
And then before an open fire he smokes his pipe, while in the blaze
He seems to see a picture show of all his happy yesterdays.
No ordinary film is that which memory throws upon the screen,
But one in which his hidden soul comes out and can be plainly seen.

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Hermann And Dorothea - VII. Erato

© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Joyfully heard the youth the willing maiden's decision,
Doubting whether he now had not better tell her the whole truth;
But it appear'd to him best to let her remain in her error,
First to take her home, and then for her love to entreat her.
Ah! but now he espied a golden ring on her finger,
And so let her speak, while he attentively listen'd:--

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Little Drops Of Water

© Louisa May Alcott

"Little drops of water,

  Little drains of sand,

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To Iris

© Arthur Symons

Lucrezia Borgia’s evil face,

Framed by her orange sunset hair,

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The Retreat.

© Robert Crawford

Against my lonely latter years
I'll build a faery home for me —
Proof against sorrow with its fears,
And age with its adversity.

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The Farmer's Boy - Autumn

© Robert Bloomfield

Again, the year's _decline_, midst storms and floods,
The thund'ring chase, the yellow fading woods,
Invite my song; that fain would boldly tell
Of upland coverts, and the echoing dell,
By turns resounding loud, at eve and morn
The swineherd's halloo, or the huntsman's horn.

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And So I've Found My Native Country...

© Attila Jozsef

And so I've found my native country,
 that soil the gravedigger will frame,
 where they who write the words above me
 do not for once misspell my name.

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William and Helen

© Sir Walter Scott

I.
From heavy dreams fair Helen rose,
And eyed the dawning red:
"Alas, my love, thou tarriest long!
O art thou false or dead?"-

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The Clue

© Robert Laurence Binyon

Life from sunned peak, witched wood, and flowery dell
A hundred ways the eager spirit wooes,
To roam, to dream, to conquer, to rebel:
Yet in its ear a voice cries ever, Choose!

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Solon

© George Meredith

I

The Tyrant passed, and friendlier was his eye

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Ballade Of Autumn

© Andrew Lang

Lady, my home until I die
Is here, where youth and hope were slain:
They flit, the ghosts of our July,
My Love returns no more again!

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Liberated Lady 1999

© Sheldon Allan Silverstein

She’s a liberated lady and she’s lookin’ out for herself.
And she don’t need your protection,
And she does not want your help.
And if you’re lookin’ for some pretty flower,
You better go look somewhere else,
’Cause I warn you, she’s a liberated lady.

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The Winged Mariners

© Ada Cambridge

Through the wild night, the silence and the dark,
 Through league on league of the uncharted sky,
Lonelier than dove of fable from its ark,
 The fieldfares fly.

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Of Heaven

© John Bunyan

Heaven is a place, also a state,
It doth all things excel,
No man can fully it relate,
Nor of its glory tell.

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Metamorphoses: Book The Seventh

© Ovid

  The End of the Seventh Book.


 Translated into English verse under the direction of
 Sir Samuel Garth by John Dryden, Alexander Pope, Joseph Addison,
 William Congreve and other eminent hands

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“In Utroque Fidelis”

© Paul Hamilton Hayne

ALONG the woods the whispering night-airs swoon,
A single bird-note dies adown the trees,
Clear, pallid, mournful, droops the summer moon,
Dipped in the foam of cloudland's phantom seas;--
Soundless they heave above
The dim, ancestral home that holds my love.

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Ireland’s Vow

© Denis Florence MacCarthy

Come! Liberty, come! we are ripe for thy coming-
Come freshen the hearts where thy rival has trod-
Come, richest and rarest!-come, purest and fairest!-
Come, daughter of Science!-come, gift of the God!

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Ella with the Shining Hair

© Henry Kendall

One passed us, like a sudden gleam;
 Her face was deadly fair.
“Oh, go,” we said, “you homeless Dream
 Of Ella’s shining hair!

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Coombe-Ellen

© William Lisle Bowles

Call the strange spirit that abides unseen

  In wilds, and wastes, and shaggy solitudes,