Emily Dickinson The last Night that She lived It was a Common Night Except the Dying -- this to Us Made Nature different We noticed smallest things -- Things overlooked before By this great light upon our Minds Italicized -- as 'twere. As We went ou...
William Carlos Williams By the road to the contagious hospital under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast a cold wind. Beyond, the waste of broad, muddy fields brown with dried weeds, standing and fallen patches of standing...
Robert Burns(17591796) O my luve is like a red, red rose, That's newly sprung in June; O my luve is like the melodie That's sweetly played in tune. As fair thou art, my bonie lass, So deep in luve am I; And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' t...
William Carlos Williams (1883-1963) As the cat climbed over the top of the jamcloset first the right forefoot carefully then the hind stepped down into the pit of the empty flowerpot...
Philip Larkin (1922-1985) Cut grass lies frail: Brief is the breath Mown stalks exhale. Long, long the death It dies in the white hours Of young-leafed June With chestnut flowers, With hedges snowlike strewn, White lilac bowed, Lost lanes of Queen A...
Philip Larkin (1922-1985) She kept her songs, they took so little space, The covers pleased her: One bleached from lying in a sunny place, One marked in circles by a vase of water, One mended, when a tidy fit had seized her, And coloured, by her dau...
William Carlos Williams (1883-1963) I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which you were probably saving for breakfast Forgive me they were delicious so sweet and so cold...
William Carlos Williams (1883-1963) Old age is a flight of small cheeping birds skimming bare trees above a snow glaze. Gaining and failing they are buffeted by a dark wind -- But what? On harsh weedstalks the flock has rested -- the snow is covered...
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939) The fascination of what's difficult Has dried the sap out of my veins, and rent Spontaneous joy and natural content Out of my heart. There's something ails our colt That must, as if it had not holy blood Nor on Olymp...
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939) One that is ever kind said yesterday 'Your well-beloved's hair has threads of grey, And little shadows come about her eyes; Time can but make it easier to be wise Though now it seems impossible, and so Patience is al...
