In a few years no one will remember the buffo,
No one will remember the trivial parts of me,
The comic detail will be absent.
As for you, you will rot in the earth,
And it is doubtful if even your manure will be rich
enough

Madrigal In Time Of War

© John Frederick Nims

Beside the rivers of the midnight town
Where four-foot couples love and paupers drown,
Shots of quick hell we took, our final kiss,
The great and swinging bridge a bower for this.

Man, A Torch

© George Moses Horton

Blown up with painful care and hard to light,

A glimmering torch blown in a moment out,

Metric Figure

© William Carlos Williams

There is a bird in the poplars!

It is the sun!

Master Johnny's Next-Door Neighbor

© Francis Bret Harte

And Ma says it's decent and proper, as I was her neighbor and friend,
That I should go there to the funeral, and she thinks that YOU ought
to attend;
But I am so clumsy and awkward, I know I shall be in the way,
And suppose they should speak to me, Papa, I wouldn't know just what
to say.

Moonset

© Sir Henry Newbolt

Past seven o'clock: time to be gone;
Twelfth-night's over and dawn shivering up:
A hasty cut of the loaf, a steaming cup,
Down to the door, and there is Coachman John.

Ma Boheme

© Arthur Rimbaud

And I listened to them, sitting on the road-sides on those pleasant
September evenings while I felt drops of dew on my forehead like
vigorous wine;

My Barometer

© Carolyn Wells

My little maid with golden hair
Comes each morning for a kiss;
And I know the day will be fine and fair
When Polly looks like this.

Misapprehension

Out of my heart, one day, I wrote a song,

With my heart's blood imbued,

Midsummer

HERE! sweep these foolish leaves away,
I will not crush my brains to-day!
Look! are the southern curtains drawn?
Fetch me a fan, and so begone!

Morale

© Charles Cros

Orner le monde avec son corps, avec son âme,
Etre aussi beau quon peut dans nos sombres milieux,
Dire haut ce quon rêve et quon aime le mieux,
Cest le devoir, pour tout homme et pour toute femme.

Mi Corazon Amerita...

Mi corazón leal, se amerita en la sombra.
Yo lo sacara al día, como lengua de fuego
que se saca de un ínfimo purgatorio a la luz;
y al oírlo batir su cárcel, yo me anego
y me hundo en ternura remordida de un padre
que siente, entre sus brazos, latir un hijo ciego.