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In the room we stood
Silent: The room was confined in a grave
Faced each other
We made no moves
The Holy Fair
A note of seeming truth and trust
Hid crafty observation;
And secret hung, with poison'd crust,
The dirk of defamation:
Endymion: Book Iii
There are who lord it o'er their fellow-men
With most prevailing tinsel: who unpen
Their baaing vanities, to browse away
The comfortable green and juicy hay
Last May A Braw Wooer
Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen,
And sair wi' his love he did deave me;
I said there was naething I hated like men:
The deuce gae wi ‘m to believe me, believe me,
Not the end: but there's nothing more.
Sweet Summer and Winter rude
I have loved, and friendship and love,
The crowd and solitude:
Salutation The Third
Let us deride the smugness of 'The Times': GUFFAW!
So much for the gagged reviewers,
It will pay them when the worms are wriggling in their
Ode To Rae Wilson Esq.
A WANDERER, Wilson, from my native land,
Remote, O Rae, from godliness and thee,
Where rolls between us the eternal sea,
Besides some furlongs of a foreign sand,â??
The Night Ride
Gas flaring on the yellow platform; voices running up and down;
Milk-tins in cold dented silver; half-awake I stare,
Pull up the blind, blink out - all sounds are drugged;
the slow blowing of passengers asleep;
Because you are four years old
the candle is all dressed up in a new frill.
And stars nod to you through the hole in the curtain,
(except the big stiff planets
Med fornem Blinken, aandssløv Plirren staar
spredt over Himlen Millioner Stjærner,
hver om 'sin' Glans med selvisk Kulde værner
og tavs om Dødens stive Slummer spaar;
Rahel To Varnhagen
Note.-Rahel Robert and Varnhagen von Ense were
married, after many protestations on her part, in 1814.
The marriage-so far as he was concerned, at any
rate-appears to have been satisfactory.
Edwin Arlington Robinson
A Proper Trewe Idyll Of Camelot
Whenas ye plaisaunt Aperille shoures have washed and purged awaye
Ye poysons and ye rheums of earth to make a merrie May,
Ye shraddy boscage of ye woods ben full of birds that syng
Right merrilie a madrigal unto ye waking spring,
Cumhal called out, bending his head,
Till Dathi came and stood,
With a blink in his eyes, at the cave-mouth,
Between the wind and the wood.
William Butler Yeats
Awake To Smile
When I blink sunshine in my eyes
And hail the amber morn,
Before the rosy dew-drop dries
With sparkle on the thorn;
Out of the infinite sea of eternity
To climb, and for an instant stand
Upon an island speck of time.
James Weldon Johnson
The master-songs are ended, and the man
That sang them is a name. And so is God
A name; and so is love, and life, and death,
And everything. But we, who are too blind
Edwin Arlington Robinson
Dow's Flat. That's its name;
And I reckon that you
Are a stranger? The same?
Well, I thought it was true,-
In the flame of the flickering fire
The sins of my soul are few
And the thoughts in my head are the thoughts of a bed
With a solitary view.
A lang-backit, spilgie, fuistit auld carl
Gangs a' nicht rakin athort the warl
Wi' a pock on his back, luikin hungry an' lean,
His crook-fingert han' aye followin his e'en:
Blue, but you are Rose, too,
and buttermilk, but with blood
dots showing through.
A little salty your white
All night I dreamed of my home,
of the roads that are so long
and straight they die in the middleâ??
among the spines of elderly weeds
August 14th, 1914
Into the brazen, burnished sky, the cry hurls itself. The zigzagging cry
of hoarse throats, it floats against the hard winds, and binds the head
Song-whistle And I'll Come To You
Chorus.â??O WHISTLE, an' I'll come to ye, my lad,
O whistle, an' I'll come to ye, my lad,
Tho' father an' mother an' a' should gae mad,
O whistle, an' I'll come to ye, my lad.
Blue Island Intersection
Six streets come together here.
They feed people and wagons into the center.
In and out all day horses with thoughts of nose-bags,
Men with shovels, women with baskets and baby-buggies.
I have always aspired to a more spacious form
that would be free from the claims of poetry or prose
and would let us understand each other without exposing
the author or reader to sublime agonies.
'She was a phantom,' &c.
In lone Glenartney's thickets lies couched the lordly stag,
The dreaming terrier's tail forgets its customary wag;
Charles Stuart Calverley
The Tale Of Custard The Dragon
Belinda lived in a little white house,
With a little black kitten and a little gray mouse,
And a little yellow dog and a little red wagon,
And a realio, trulio, little pet dragon.