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In the spring of the year, in the spring of the year,
In the fall of the year, in the fall of the year, Year be springing or year be falling, Ah! what pleasant visions haunt me Sails of silk and ropes of sandal, Most of all, the Spanish ballad Like the long waves on a sea-beach, Telling how the Count Arnaldos, How he heard the ancient helmsman Till his soul was full of longing, "Wouldst thou,"--so the helmsman answered, In each sail that skims the horizon, Till my soul is full of longing Should I get married? Should I be good? When she introduces me to her parents Should I tell them? Would they like me then? O God, and the wedding! All her family and her friends But I should get married I should be good Yes if I should get married and it's Connecticut and snow No, I doubt I'd be that kind of father O but what about love? I forget love Ah, yet well I know that were a woman possible as I am possible
That is the land of lost content, An omnibus across the bridge Big barges full of yellow hay The yellow leaves begin to fade The second time I meant For the eying of my scars, there is a charge Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware Beware. Out of the ash I rise with my red hair And I eat men like air. Evening Star
by Edgar Allan Poe
'Twas noontide of summer,
And mid-time of night; And stars, in their orbits, Shone pale, thro' the light Of the brighter, cold moon, 'Mid planets her slaves, Herself in the Heavens, Her beam on the waves. I gazed awhile On her cold smile; Too cold—too cold for me— There pass'd, as a shroud, A fleecy cloud, And I turned away to thee, Proud Evening Star, In thy glory afar, And dearer thy beam shall be; For joy to my heart Is the proud part Thou bearest in Heaven at night, And more I admire Thy distant fire, Than that colder, lowly light. Ode to Melancholy
by John Keats
She Walks in Beauty
by George Gordon Lord Byron
She walks in Beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellowed to that tender light Which Heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, Upon a Lilac Sea
by Emily Dickinson
Upon a Lilac Sea
To toss incessantly His Plush Alarm Who fleeing from the Spring The Spring avenging fling To Dooms of Balm Emperor of Ice-Cream
Wallace Stevens
Call the roller of big cigars,
The muscular one, and bid him whip In kitchen cups concupiscent curds. Let the wenches dawdle in such dress As they are used to wear, and let the boys Bring flowers in last month's newspapers. Let be be finale of seem. The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream. Take from the dresser of deal, Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheet On which she embroidered fantails once And spread it so as to cover her face. If her horny feet protrude, they come To show how cold she is, and dumb. Let the lamp affix its beam. The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream Fool
Sarah Cline
I thought love to be foolish
till a fool proved me wrong.
What a precious fool you are
to fall in love with me.
Fireflies in the Garden
Robert Frost
Here come real stars to fill the upper skies,
And here on earth come emulating flies, That though they never equal stars in size, (And they were never really stars at heart) Achieve at times a very star-like start. Only, of course, they can't sustain the part. I Will Lie Down
May Swenson
I will lie down in autumn
let birds be flying Swept into a hollow
by the wind I'll wait for dying I will lie inert unseen
my hair same-colored with grass and leaves Gather me
for the autumn fires with the withered sheaves I will sleep face down
in the burnt meadow not hearing the sound of water over stones Trail over me cloud
and shadow Let snow hide the whiteness of my bones. Grass
Carl Sandburg
Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.
Shovel them under and let me work -
I am the grass; I cover all. And pile them high at Gettysburg
What place is this? The Cafe
Leonard Cohen
The beauty of my table.
The cracked marble top.
A brown-haired girl ten tables away.
Come with me.
I want to talk.
I've taken a drug that makes me want to talk.
April Rain Song
Langston Hughes
Let the rain kiss you
Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops Let the rain sing you a lullaby The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk The rain makes running pools in the gutter The rain plays a little sleep song on our roof at night And I love the rain. Ode to the Plum Blossom
Lu Yu
Outside the post-house, beside the broken bridge, Alone, deserted, a flower blooms. Daffodils
William Wordsworth
I WANDER'D lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way, They stretch'd in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils. We Real Cool
Gwendolyn Brooks
The Pool Players. Seven at the Golden Shovel. We real cool. We Left school. We Lurk late. We Strike straight. We Sing sin. We Thin gin. We Jazz June. We Die soon. Evangeline, A Tale of Arcadie*
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic, Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms. *Due to the length of this poem I just posted the part that inspired me the most, the rest of the poem can be found HERE. Perfect Day
Lou Reed
Just a perfect day, Drink Sangria in the park, And then later, when it gets dark, We go home. Just a perfect day, Feed animals in the zoo Then later, a movie, too, And then home. Oh it's such a perfect day, I'm glad I spent it with you. Oh such a perfect day, You just keep me hanging on, You just keep me hanging on. Just a perfect day, Problems all left alone, Weekenders on our own. It's such fun. Just a perfect day, You made me forget myself. I thought I was someone else, Someone good. Oh it's such a perfect day, I'm glad I spent it with you. Oh such a perfect day, You just keep me hanging on, You just keep me hanging on. You're going to reap just what you sow, You're going to reap just what you sow, You're going to reap just what you sow, You're going to reap just what you sow... Sea-Fever
by John Masefield
I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by, And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking, And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking. I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied; And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying, And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying. I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life, To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife; And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over. The Mermaid
by Alfred Lord Tennyson Who would be I would be a mermaid fair; But at night I would wander away, away, Purple Cow
by Gelett Burgess I never saw a Purple Cow,
I never hope to see one. But I can tell you, anyhow, I'd rather see than be one. Reply (To The "Purple Cow") by Gelett Burgess Ah, yes, I wrote the "Purple Cow"--
I'm sorry, now, I wrote it! But I can tell you anyhow, I'll kill you if you quote it. Kubla Khan or, A Vision in a Dream. A Fragment.
by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree : Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground With walls and towers were girdled round : And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills, Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree ; And here were forests ancient as the hills, Enfolding sunny spots of greenery. But oh ! that deep romantic chasm which slanted Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover ! A savage place ! as holy and enchanted As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon-lover ! And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, A mighty fountain momently was forced : Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail : And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever It flung up momently the sacred river. Five miles meandering with a mazy motion Through wood and dale the sacred river ran, Then reached the caverns measureless to man, And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean : And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far Ancestral voices prophesying war ! The shadow of the dome of pleasure Floated midway on the waves ; Where was heard the mingled measure From the fountain and the caves. It was a miracle of rare device, A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice ! A damsel with a dulcimer In a vision once I saw : It was an Abyssinian maid, And on her dulcimer she played, Singing of Mount Abora. Could I revive within me Her symphony and song, To such a deep delight 'twould win me, That with music loud and long, I would build that dome in air, That sunny dome ! those caves of ice ! And all who heard should see them there, And all should cry, Beware ! Beware ! His flashing eyes, his floating hair ! Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread, For he on honey-dew hath fed, And drunk the milk of Paradise. With Rue My Heart Is Laden
by A.E. Housman
With rue my heart is laden
For golden friends I had, For many a rose-lipt maiden And many a lightfoot lad. By brooks too broad for leaping The lightfoot boys are laid; The rose-lipt girls are sleeping In fields where roses fade. Annabel Lee
by Edgar Allan Poe
It was many and many a year ago, I was a child and she was a child, And this was the reason that, long ago, The angels, not half so happy in heaven, But our love it was stronger by far than the love For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride, In the sepulchre there by the sea, In her tomb by the sounding sea. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
by Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year. He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound's the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake. The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep. This is the Time of Fire
by Elaine Maria Upton
There is a time of Water and a time of Wind.
This is the time of Fire, and Fire eats time. The sands of the desert are uncountable! Let go of the reckoning! Let go of time! Let go of rain! Let go of forgiving! Fire eats rain and Fire eats trees. Fire eats
The leaves of corn. Fire is the grain and the husk Of corn. Fire is the raging of Water. Fire is the roar, the hum, the sting of Wind. Fire is the pepper pulsing from the flower. Fire is the frenzied volcano dancing. It is the lightning's blitz, the drumming, the singing, The beat of tribes, telling their story all night, Piercing the bottom of dark, birthing the light. Fire is the Earth exhausted, folding, sleeping
from days and nights of love, til there is no counting. When flowers bleed, when lions sleep, when angels sigh, oh bleed, oh sleep, oh sigh then! Oh, burn with mountains! When leaves flame and fall to the ground, When grass grows brown then gray, grieve not. Grieve not, but follow the eagle and follow the grass. Weep not for the Earth. Weep not for the corn.
The Earth is the lover who gives all to love. The Earth makes a bed of Love and the Sun knows. The Earth makes a table of Love and the Fire knows. The Earth feeds Fire. The Earth gives all to Love. Follow the Earth. Look beyond your eyes as you go! Follow the Earth to the beat of the Fire! Open your thighs. Give all to Love! Negro Speaks of Rivers
by Langston Hughes
I've known rivers:
I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human rivers My soul has grown deep like the rivers. I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep. I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it. I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy bosom turn all golden in the sunset I've known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers. My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
Tulips
by Sylvia Plath
The tulips are too excitable, it is winter here. Look how white everything is, how quiet, how snowed-in. I am learning peacefulness, lying by myself quietly As the light lies on these white walls, this bed, these hands. I am nobody; I have nothing to do with explosions. I have given my name and my day-clothes up to the nurses And my history to the anaesthetist and my body to surgeons. They have propped my head between the pillow and the sheet-cuff
Like an eye between two white lids that will not shut. Stupid pupil, it has to take everything in. The nurses pass and pass, they are no trouble, They pass the way gulls pass inland in their white caps Doing things with their hands, one just the same as another, So it is impossible to tell how many there are. My body is a pebble to them, they tend it as water
Tends to the pebbles it must run over, smoothing them gently. They bring me numbness in their bright needles, they bring me sleep. Now I have lost myself I am sick of baggage – My patent leather overnight case like a black pillbox, My husband and child smiling out of the family photo; Their smiles catch onto my skin, little smiling hooks. I have let things slip, a thirty-year-old cargo boat
Stubbornly hanging on to my name and address. They have swabbed me clear of my loving associations. Scared and bare on the green plastic-pillowed trolley I watched my tea-set, my bureaus of linen, my books Sink out of sight, and the water went over my head. I am a nun now, I have never been so pure. I didn't want any flowers, I only wanted
To lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty. How free it is, you have no idea how free – The peacefulness is so big it dazes you, And it asks nothing, a name tag, a few trinkets. It is what the dead close on, finally; I imagine them Shutting their mouths on it, like a Communion tablet. The tulips are too red in the first place, they hurt me.
Even through the gift paper I could hear them breathe Lightly, through their white swaddlings, like an awful baby. Their redness talks to my wound, it corresponds. They are subtle: they seem to float, though they weigh me down, Upsetting me with their sudden tongues and their colour, A dozen read lead sinkers round my neck. Nobody watched me before, now I am watched.
The tulips turn to me, and the window behind me Where once a day the light slowly widens and slowly thins, And I see myself, flat, ridiculous, a cut-paper shadow Between the eye of the sun and the eyes of the tulips, And I have no face, I have wanted to efface myself. The vivid tulips eat my oxygen. Before they came the air was calm enough,
Coming and going, breath by breath, without any fuss. Then the tulips filled it up like a loud noise. Now the air snags and eddies round them the way a river Snags and eddies round a sunken rust-red engine. They concentrate my attention, that was happy Playing and resting without committing itself. The walls, also, seem to be warming themselves.
The tulips should be behind bars like dangerous animals; They are opening like the mouth of some great African cat, And I am aware of my heart: it opens and closes Its bowl of red blooms out of sheer love of me. The water I taste is warm and salt, like the sea, And comes from a country far away as health. The Raven
by Edgar Allan Poe
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. "'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door — Only this, and nothing more." Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; — vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore — For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore — Nameless here for evermore. And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door — Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; — This it is, and nothing more." Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you"— here I opened wide the door; — Darkness there, and nothing more. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?" This I whi
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