THERE is a city burning in a dream
All women know and search for secretly;
The swift rose-hearted flame's eternal stream
Laps round the changeless towers eternally.

The Power Of Hell

© John Le Gay Brereton

There is no place, he said,
For love or pity here;
We dread and only dread
The moods that once were dear.

The Fever-Dream

© Caroline Norton

IT was a fever-dream; I lay
Awake, as in the broad bright day,
But faint and worn I drew my breath
Like those who wait for coming death;

To Eleonora Duse In "The Dead City"

© Sara Teasdale

Were you a Greek when all the world was young,
Before the weary years that pass and pass,
Had scattered all the temples on the grass,
Before the moss to marble columns clung?

The Coronation

© Thomas Hardy

Edward the Pious, and two Edwards more,
The second Richard, Henrys three or four;

The Thracian Filly

© Anacreon

Ah tell me why you turn and fly,
My little Thracian filly shy?
Why turn askance
That cruel glance,
And think that such a dunce am I?

The Front Seat

When I was but a little lad I always liked to ride,

No matter what the rig we had, right by the driver's side.

The Wolves

© Allen Tate

There are wolves in the next room waiting

With heads bent low, thrust out, breathing

The Brave Volunteer

At the time of the rebellion

Between the north and south,

The Willow

On sweet young earth where the myrtle presses,
Long we lay, when the May was new;
The willow was winding the moon in her tresses,
The bud of the rose was told with dew.