Mom poems

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O Hymen! O Hymenee!

© Walt Whitman

O HYMEN! O hymenee!
Why do you tantalize me thus?
O why sting me for a swift moment only?
Why can you not continue? O why do you now cease?
Is it because, if you continued beyond the swift moment, you would
  soon certainly kill me?

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Paradise Lost: Book I (1674)

© Patrick Kavanagh

So spake th' Apostate Angel, though in pain,
Vaunting aloud, but rackt with deep despare:
And him thus answer'd soon his bold Compeer.

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Under The Rose

© Christina Georgina Rossetti

Oh the rose of keenest thorn!
One hidden summer morn
Under the rose I was born.

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The Hunting of the Snark

© Lewis Carroll

"Just the place for a Snark!" the Bellman cried,
 As he landed his crew with care;
Supporting each man on the top of the tide
 By a finger entwined in his hair.

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Trying to Write a Poem While the Couple in the Apartment Overhead Make Love

© David Wagoner

She's like a singer straying slowly off key

while trying too hard to remember the words to a song

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The Beautiful Changes

© Lola Ridge

One wading a Fall meadow finds on all sides 
The Queen Anne’s Lace lying like lilies
On water; it glides
So from the walker, it turns
Dry grass to a lake, as the slightest shade of you 
Valleys my mind in fabulous blue Lucernes.

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To My Father's Business

© Kenneth Koch

Leo bends over his desk 

Gazing at a memorandum 

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Frost at Midnight

© Samuel Taylor Coleridge

The Frost performs its secret ministry,

Unhelped by any wind. The owlet's cry

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Naucratia; Or Naval Dominion. Part III.

© Henry James Pye

  Arm'd in her cause, on Chalgrave's fatal plain,
  Where sorrowing Freedom mourns her Hambden slain,
  Say, shall the moralizing bard presume
  From his proud hearse to tear one warlike plume,
  Because a Cæsar or a Cromwell wore
  An impious wreath, wet with their country's gore?

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A Shopkeeper’s Story

© Richard Jones

I sell one bristle brushes. People
seeking two bristle brushes I send
to the guy on Amsterdam, who’s in a rush.

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Elegy with a Chimneysweep Falling Inside It

© Larry Levis

Those twenty-six letters filling the blackboard 
Compose the dark, compose
The illiterate summer sky & its stars as they appear 

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Five Poems From “Helen: A Revision”

© Jack Spicer

Nothing is known about Helen but her voice
Strange glittering sparks
Lighting no fires but what is reechoed
Rechorded, set on the icy sea.

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The Death Of Conradin

© Felicia Dorothea Hemans

No cloud to dim the splendour of the day
Which breaks o'er Naples and her lovely bay,
And lights that brilliant sea and magic shore
With every tint that charmed the great of yore-
The imperial ones of earth, who proudly bade
Their marble domes e'en Ocean's realm invade.

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Reminiscences A Darwin

© Henri Cazalis

Je sens un monde en moi de confuses pensees,
Je sens obscurement que j'ai vecu toujours,
Que j'ai longtemps erre dans les forets passees,
Et que la bete encor garde en moi ses amours.

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Idylls of the King: The Last Tournament

© Alfred Tennyson

  To whom the King, "Peace to thine eagle-borne
Dead nestling, and this honour after death,
Following thy will! but, O my Queen, I muse
Why ye not wear on arm, or neck, or zone
Those diamonds that I rescued from the tarn,
And Lancelot won, methought, for thee to wear."

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Parsley

© Rita Dove

There is a parrot imitating spring
in the palace, its feathers parsley green. 
Out of the swamp the cane appears

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When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d

© Walt Whitman

1
When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom’d,
And the great star early droop’d in the western sky in the night,
I mourn’d, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.

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How She Bowed to her Brother

© Gertrude Stein

The story of how she bowed to her brother.


Who has whom as his.

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Like a Sentence

© John Ashbery

It was prettily said that “No man
hath an abundance of cows on the plain, nor shards
in his cupboard.” Wait! I think I know who said that! It was . . .

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The Lady Of La Garaye - Prologue

© Caroline Norton

This was the Chapel: that the stair:
Here, where all lies damp and bare,
The fragrant thurible was swung,
The silver lamp in beauty hung,
And in that mass of ivied shade
The pale nuns sang--the abbot prayed.