The historic Muse, from age to age,
Through many a waste heart-sickening page
Hath traced the works of Man:
But a celestial call to-day
Stays her, like Moses, on her way,
The works of God to scan.

Love 20¢ The First Quarter Mile

© Kenneth Fearing

Because I forgive you, yes, for everything.
I forgive you for being beautiful and generous and wise,
I forgive you, to put it simply, for being alive, and pardon you, in short, for being you.

The summer takes its hue
From something opulent as fair in her,
And the bright heaven is brighter than it was;
Brighter and lovelier,
Arching its beautiful blue,
Serene and soft, as her sweet gaze, o'er us.

Faith

© Edith Nesbit

Lord, when my eyes see nothing but grey
In all Thy world that is now so green,
I will bethink me of this spring day
And the house of welcome, known yet unseen;
The wall that conceals
And the faith that reveals.

To The Moko-Moko, Or Bell-Bird

© Alexander Bathgate

I.
Merry chimer, merry chimer,
Oh, sing once more,
Again outpour,
Like some long-applauded mimer,
All thy vocal store.

Weary

© Dora Sigerson Shorter

Here, in the silent churchyard, 'mid a thousand dead, alone,

Weary I sit for a moment clasping this cross of stone,

White Rose And Red

© Augusta Davies Webster

WHITE rose sighed in the morn,
Red rose laughed in the noon,
And "Sweetest sweetness is ended soon,"
And "Never heed for the thorn."

"`Were I a Poet, I would dwell"

`Were I a Poet, I would dwell,

Not upon lonely height,

Preparatory Meditations - Second Series: 3

Like to the marigold, I blushing close
My golden blossoms when Thy sun goes down:
Moist'ning my leaves with dewy sighs, half froze
By the nocturnal cold, that hoars my crown.
Mine apples ashes are in apple-shells
And dirty too: strange and bewitching spells!

Explanation Of An Ancient Woodcut

Soon as the spring-sun meets his view,
Repose begets him labour anew;
He feels that he holds within his brain
A little world, that broods there amain,
And that begins to act and to live,
Which he to others would gladly give.

Firesong

© Sylvia Plath

Born green we were

to this flawed garden,

As I wer readèn ov a stwone

In Grenley church-yard all alwone,

Natalias Resurrection: Sonnet X

But with full daylight finding no relief,
Though he had spent the newness of his fears
And looked with altered eyes upon his grief,
For sorrow often drowses in its tears,