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Come hither, child

© Emily Jane Brontë

Come hither, child-who gifted thee
With power to touch that string so well?
How darest thou rouse up thoughts in me,
Thoughts that I would-but cannot quell?

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Metamorphoses: Book The Sixth

© Ovid

 The End of the Sixth 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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Leaving the Matter Open: A Tale By Homer Wilbur, A.M.

© James Russell Lowell

Meanwhile, South's swine increasing fast;
His farm became too small at last;
So, having thought the matter over,
And feeling bound to live in clover
And never pay the clover's worth,
He said one day to Brother North:--

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Memory

© William Ellery Channing

I hear thy solemn anthem fall,
O richest song, upon my ear,
That clothes thee in thy golden pall,
As this wide sun flows on the mere.

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The Graveyard By The Sea

© Paul Valéry

Sure treasure, simple shrine to intelligence,
Palpable calm, visible reticence,
Proud-lidded water, Eye wherein there wells
Under a film of fire such depth of sleep --
O silence! . . . Mansion in my soul, you slope
Of gold, roof of a myriad golden tiles.

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Fatal Love

© Matthew Prior

Poor Hal caught his death standing under a spout
Expecting till midnight when Nan would come out;
But fatal his patience, as cruel the dame,
And cursed was the weather that quench'd the man's flame.
Whoe'er thou art that reads these moral lines,
Make love at home, and go to bed betimes.

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The English Graves

© Gilbert Keith Chesterton

  For these were simple men that loved with hands and feet and eyes,
  Whose souls were humbled to the hills and narrowed to the skies,
  The hundred little lands within one little land that lie,
  Where Severn seeks the sunset isles or Sussex scales the sky.

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Hero And Leander. The Sixth Sestiad

© George Chapman

No longer could the Day nor Destinies

  Delay the Night, who now did frowning rise

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Marriage Songs

© George MacDonald

"They have no more wine!" she said.
But they had enough of bread;
And the vessels by the door
Held for thirst a plenteous store:
Yes, enough; but Love divine
Turned the water into wine!

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Hermann And Dorothea - II. Terpsichore

© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Then the son thoughtfully answer'd:--"I know not why, but the fact is
My annoyance has graven itself in my mind, and hereafter
I could not bear at the piano to see her, or list to her singing."

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'The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 3

© Publius Vergilius Maro

“WHEN Heav’n had overturn’d the Trojan state  

And Priam’s throne, by too severe a fate;  

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Palinode - Autumn

© James Russell Lowell

Still thirteen years: 'tis autumn now
  On field and hill, in heart and brain;
The naked trees at evening sough;
The leaf to the forsaken bough
  Sighs not,--'_Auf wiedersehen!_'

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The Brothers

© William Wordsworth

"THESE Tourists, heaven preserve us! needs must live

A profitable life: some glance along,

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Speranza

© Jean Ingelow

England puts on her purple, and pale, pale
  With too much light, the primrose doth but wait
To meet the hyacinth; then bower and dale
  Shall lose her and each fairy woodland mate.
April forgets them, for their utmost sum
Of gift was silent, and the birds are come.

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Songs From “Prince Lucifer” II - Mother-Song

© Alfred Austin

WHITE little hands!  

 Pink little feet!  

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Sojourning and Wandering

© Padraic Colum

AUTUMN
A GOOD stay-at-home season is Autumn: then there's
work to be joined in by all:
Though the fawns, where the brackens make covert, may range away undeterred,
The stags that were lone upon hillocks now give heed to the call,
To the bellowing call of the hinds, and they draw back to the herd.

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The Dreamer on the Sea-shore

© Louisa Stuart Costello

What are the dreams of him who may sleep


Where the solemn voice of the troubled deep

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Amy Wentworth

© John Greenleaf Whittier


Her fingers shame the ivory keys
They dance so light along;
The bloom upon her parted lips
Is sweeter than the song.

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The Harper’s Story

© Dora Sigerson Shorter

My pretty ladies, mid this Christmas cheer,

Loth though I am to wake a single tear

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W'en I Gits Home

© Paul Laurence Dunbar

It's moughty tiahsome layin' 'roun'
  Dis sorrer-laden earfly groun',
  An' oftentimes I thinks, thinks I,
  'T would be a sweet t'ing des to die,
  An' go 'long home.