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Sleep, let me sleep, for I am sick of care;
Sleep, let me sleep, for my pain wearies me.
Shut out the light; thicken the heavy air
With drowsy incense; let a distant stream
Rain On Me
Dry as a dessert i am
Would you rain on me once again
I chased you down the dark corridor
I couldn't find you
Poetry is a painting of words,
The colours are our tears and thoughts,
That flow from the mind to the pen in hand and onto the paper.
The different figure of speech and tone used in poetry enhances its texture.
The sky is now cloudy
The wind has started to blow up
The birds are flying away in their homes
The tunder is ringing now
Ode To Walt Whitman
By the East River and the Bronx
boys were singing, exposing their waists
with the wheel, with oil, leather, and the hammer.
Ninety thousand miners taking silver from the rocks
Federico Garcàa Lorca
The hulk of a man with a beer in his hand looked like a drunk old fool,
And I knew that if I hit him right, I could knock him off that stool.
But everybody said, 'Watch out, that's Tiger Man McCool.
He's had a whole lot of fights, and he always come out the winner.
When you close your eyes
I see the beauty of a real black woman
blazing like the bright light from heaven
iambic pentameter's good
as josh have said "it's good to write"
we can insist to learn the more
we write, for easier it gets
Yahya A Gimba
The Temple Of Friendship
Sacred to peace, within a wood's recess,
A blest retreat, where courtiers never press,
A temple stands, where art did never try
With pompous wonders to enchant the eye;
Out Of The East
When man first walked upright and soberly
Reflecting as he paced to and fro,
And no more swinging from wide tree to tree,
Or sheltered by vast boles from sheltered foe,
The Corn-stalk Fiddle
When the corn 's all cut and the bright stalks shine
Like the burnished spears of a field of gold;
When the field-mice rich on the nubbins dine,
And the frost comes white and the wind blows cold;
Paul Laurence Dunbar
I love thee not for sacred chastity.
Who loves for that? nor for thy sprightly wit:
I love thee not for thy sweet modesty,
Which makes thee in perfection's throne to sit.
White glow melts life
freezes shadow, twisted bottle
the birth of the transistor
S. K. Kelen
"It's simple to ruin the life harder than to make it"
Struggles, pains and tide,
Besiding the Wonder things of way,
The Love Page
Your Voice is like the strings of
Lucifer, I listen
Lullaby in a dark night
The way I feel about you
The Scholar Gypsy
Go, for they call you, shepherd, from the hill;
Go, shepherd, and untie the wattled cotes!
No longer leave thy wistful flock unfed,
Nor let thy bawling fellows rack their throats,
You are the town and we are the clock.
We are the guardians of the gate in the rock.
On your left and on your right
W. H. Auden
There is a grace in the way people do things, even the simplest tasks-
the dance with which their fingers encircle the chicken's gaze, coaxing
the edges of its eyes into paleness, their calling upon it to rest now,
their speaking in a way that acknowledges something common to both of them-
Thine emulous fond flowers are dead, too,
And the daft sun-assaulter, he
That frightened thee so oft, is fled or dead:
Save only me
I let myself in at the kitchen door.
“It's you,” she said. “I can't get up. Forgive me
Not answering your knock. I can no more
Let people in than I can keep them out.
Ode On The Spring
Lo! where the rosy-bosomed Hours,
Fair Venus' train, appear,
Disclose the long-expecting flowers,
And wake the purple year!
The Progress Of Poesy
Awake, Æolian lyre, awake,
And give to rapture all thy trembling strings.
From Helicon's harmonious springs
A thousand rills their mazy progress take:
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
Endymion: Book Iv
Muse of my native land! loftiest Muse!
O first-born on the mountains! by the hues
Of heaven on the spiritual air begot:
Long didst thou sit alone in northern grot,
Ode To A Nightingale
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
Nymph of the downward smile and sidelong glance!
In what diviner moments of the day
Art thou most lovely?-when gone far astray
Into the labyrinths of sweet utterance,
Venus And Adonis
Even as the sun with purple-coloured face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheeked Adonis hied him to the chase;
Hunting he loved, but love he laughed to scorn.
Song Of Myself
I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
And this place our forefathers made for man!
This is the process of our love and wisdom,
To each poor brother who offends against us-
Most innocent, perhaps-and what if guilty?
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Portrait Of A Lady
Thou hast committed-
Fornication: but that was in another country,
And besides, the wench is dead.
The Jew of Malta.
T. S. Eliot
The Song Of The Jellicles
Jellicle Cats come out tonight,
Jellicle Cats come one come all:
The Jellicle Moon is shining bright-
Jellicles come to the Jellicle Ball.
T. S. Eliot
The Lobster Quadrille
“Will you walk a little faster?” said a whiting to a snail.
“There's a porpoise close behind us, and he's treading on my tail.
See how eagerly the lobsters and the turtles all advance!
They are waiting on the shingle-will you come and join the dance?
Auguries Of Innocence
To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.