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What is—

© Emily Dickinson

What is—"Paradise"—
Who live there—
Are they "Farmers"—
Do they "hoe"—
Do they know that this is "Amherst"—
And that I—am coming—too—

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Travel Prayer

© Margaret Widdemer

ALL along the way
  As through the night we go,
I see the little houses
  In lighted row on row–

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Gloucester Moors

© William Vaughn Moody

A mile behind is Gloucester town

Where the flishing fleets put in,

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1946-47

© Jibanananda Das

Thousands of Bengali villages, silent and powerless, sink into
hopelessness and lightlessness.
When the sun sets, a certain lovely haired darkness
Comes to fix her hair in-a bun-but by whose hands?

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The Brothers

© Richard Monckton Milnes

'Tis true, that we can sometimes speak of Death,
Even of the Deaths of those we love the best,
Without dismay or terror; we can sit
In serious calm beneath deciduous trees,

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Wet Weather

© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay

IT is the English in me that loves the soft, wet weather--
  The cloud upon the mountain, the mist upon the sea,
The sea-gull flying low and near with rain upon each feather,
  The scent of deep, green woodlands where the buds are breaking free.

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The Battle of Lexington

© Sidney Lanier

Now haste thee while the way is clear,
Paul Revere!
Haste, Dawes! but haste thee not, O Sun!
To Lexington.

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The Hill Of San Sebastian

© William Henry Drummond

Good job I was cryin' quiet den, an' Louis
  can't hear at all
But I kiss de poor feller an' laugh, an' never
  say not'ing-me.

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A Winter's Tale

© Dylan Thomas

It is a winter's tale
That the snow blind twilight ferries over the lakes
And floating fields from the farm in the cup of the vales,
Gliding windless through the hand folded flakes,
The pale breath of cattle at the stealthy sail,

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Louis XVII (King Louis XVII)

© Victor Marie Hugo

On entendit des voix qui disaient dans la nue :
—" Jeune ange, Dieu sourit à ta gloire ingénue;
Viens, rentre dans ses bras pour ne plus en sortir;
Et vous, qui du Très-Haut racontez les louanges,
Séraphins, prophètes, archanges,
Courbez-vous, c'est un Roi; chantez, c'est un Martyr! "

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His Gippsland Girl

© William Henry Ogilvie

Now, money was scarce and work was slack

  And love to his heart Crept in,

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The Winter’s Walk

© Caroline Norton

Gleam'd the red sun athwart the misty haze
Which veil'd the cold earth from its loving gaze,
Feeble and sad as Hope in Sorrow's hour,
But for THY soul it still had warmth and power;
Not to its cheerless beauty wert thou blind,
To the keen eye of thy poetic mind

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Compensation

© Celia Thaxter

In that new world toward which our feet are set,

Shall we find aught to make our hearts forget

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Nice Guy

© Charles Bukowski

there was a good crowd at the funeral.
his wife cried.
my friend Eddie consoled her,
then took her home and fucked
her.

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Da Boy From Rome

© Thomas Augustine Daly

To-day ees com' from Eetaly
A boy ees leeve een Rome,
An' he ees stop an' speak weeth me --
I weesh he stay at home.

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Little Nellie's Pa

© Alma Frances McCollum

OH! me and Nellie Barker live way down on William Street,—

I'll bet you couldn't find another youngster half so sweet;

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A Whaler's Confession

© Harry Kemp

Three long years a-sailing, three long years a-whaling,
Kicking through the ice floes, caught in calm or gale,
Lost in flat Sargasso seas, cursing at the prickly heat,
Going months without a sight of another sail.

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Santa Christina

© Henry Van Dyke

Saints are God's flowers, fragrant souls

  That His own hand hath planted,