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War With Myself
"No, please, stop, I don't want to go over this again", but it said
"just one more, it wouldn't strain a muscle. It's not the first time remember?"
How sad i gave into desires, known to my soul as unclean
Raped by my urges. Lonliness, shame, disgust, worthlessness are what I know.
A Servant To Servants
I didn't make you know how glad I was
To have you come and camp here on our land.
I promised myself to get down some day
And see the way you lived, but I don't know!
A Winter Night
When biting Boreas, fell and doure,
Sharp shivers thro' the leafless bow'r;
When Phœbus gies a short-liv'd glow'r,
Far south the lift,
I Guess It's Over
I guess they were right,
when they said the world isn't all black and white.
Nothing lasts forever,
but I thought we'd stay together
Wish I Have
Wish I have words to described the way you makes me feel, the way you impacted upon my life, the way you comfort my heart, the way you sooth my mind and my body.
Wish I have the humor to always make you smile, to make you shine, to make you twinkled like a star light, to make those dimples say here am I.
"Hign bliss is only for a higher state,"
But, surely, if severe afflictions borne
With patience merit the reward of peace,
Peace ye deserve; and may the solid good,
THAT HE SANG AT THE COUNCIL ROCK WHEN HE DANCED ON SHERE KHAN'S HIDE
The Song of Mowgli-I, Mowgli, am singing. Let
the jungle listen to the things I have done.
Michael: A Pastoral Poem
If from the public way you turn your steps
Up the tumultuous brook of Green-head Ghyll,
You will suppose that with an upright path
Your feet must struggle; in such bold ascent
Among the dwellers in the silent fields
The natural heart is touched, and public way
And crowded street resound with ballad strains,
Inspired by one whose very name bespeaks
my striking empathy
wake and skate my day
i have a gush to redden
when fairness of earth embedded like deluge
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were-I have not seen
As others saw-I could not bring
My passions from a common spring-
Edgar Allan Poe
We stood among the boats and nets;
We saw the swift clouds fall,
We watched the schooners scamper in
Before the sudden squall;-
Ah, had you seen the Coolun,
Walking down by the cuckoo's street,
With the dew of the meadow shining
On her milk-white twinkling feet.
Sir Samuel Ferguson
A raven, while with glossy breast
Her new-laid eggs she fondly press'd,
And, on her wicker-work high mounted,
Her chickens prematurely counted
To grass, or leaf, or fruit, or wall,
The snail sticks close, nor fears to fall,
As if he grew there, house and all
An old man planted and dug and tended,
Toiling in joy from dew to dew;
The sun was kind, and the rain befriended;
Fine grew his orchard and fair to view.
Paul Laurence Dunbar
A Rainy Day
Oh, what a blessed interval
A rainy day may be!
No lightning flash nor tempest roar,
But one incessant, steady pour
A Short Poem or Else Not Say I
True pleasure breathes not city air,
Nor in Art's temples dwells,
Rivers To The Sea
But what of her whose heart is troubled by it,
The mother who would soothe and set him free,
Fearing the song's storm-shaken ecstasy-
Oh, as the moon that has no power to quiet
To feel it coming,
The throat choking feeling and its painful lumps
From the aching heart that shuttered your mood to the fear that after kicks in
It's useless fighting it off,
Oh my forever,
When the world was a empty shell
You walked into my life to make it all well
I saw that glimpse of you as my girl
The Wind Of Love
The could rises from the vales,
Climbs & move high to kiss the mountains,
Never expecting to return again,
Unless the wind blows back.
The Female Exile
Written at Brighthelmstone in Nov. 1792.
NOVEMBER'S chill blast on the rough beach is howling,
The surge breaks afar, and then foams to the shore,
Dark clouds o'er the sea gather heavy and scowling,
Lower New York'a Storm
White wing'd below the darkling clouds
The driven sea-gulls wheel;
The roused sea flings a storm against
The towers of stone and steel.
I must do as you do? Your way I own
Is a very good way, and still,
There are sometimes two straight roads to a town,
One over, one under the hill.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
In Midnight Sleep
IN midnight sleep, of many a face of anguish,
Of the look at first of the mortally wounded--of that indescribable
Of the dead on their backs, with arms extended wide,
Was It You?
“Hullo, young Jones! with your tie so gay
And your pen behind your ear;
Will you mark my cheque in the usual way?
For I'm overdrawn, I fear.”
A Year Ago
I'm sitting by the fire tonight,
The cat purrs on the rug;
The room's abrim with rosy light,
Suavely soft and snug;
There were three kings into the east,
Three kings both great and high,
An' they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn should die.
In Virgil's Sacred Verse we find,
That Passion can depress or raise
The Heav'nly, as the Human Mind:
Who dare deny what Virgil says?
From out the desolation of the North
An iceberg took it away,
From its detaining comrades breaking forth,
And traveling night and day.