Poems about rarer (21 Poems)
The Mother Mourns (Thomas Hardy Poem)
When mid-autumn’s moan shook the night-time, And sedges were horny, And summer’s green wonderwork faltered On leaze and in lane, I fared Yell’ham-Firs way, where dimly Came wheeling around me Those phantoms obscure and insistent That shadows unchain. Till airs … Continue reading
The Choir Invisible (George Eliot Poem)
Oh, may I join the choir invisible Of those immortal dead who live again In minds made better by their presence; live In pulses stirred to generosity, In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn For miserable aims that end with … Continue reading
The Lady feeds Her little Bird (Emily Dickinson Poem)
The Lady feeds Her little Bird At rarer intervals – The little Bird would not dissent But meekly recognize The Gulf between the Hand and Her And crumbless and afar And fainting, on Her yellow Knee Fall softly, and adore … Continue reading
Nature rarer uses Yellow (Emily Dickinson Poem)
Nature rarer uses Yellow Than another Hue. Saves she all of that for Sunsets Prodigal of Blue Spending Scarlet, like a Woman Yellow she affords Only scantly and selectly Like a Lover’s Words. (Emily Dickinson)
III. The Dead (Rupert Brooke Poem)
Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead! There’s none of these so lonely and poor of old, But, dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold. These laid the world away; poured out the red Sweet wine of youth; … Continue reading
1914 III: The Dead (Rupert Brooke Poem)
Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead! There’s none of these so lonely and poor of old, But, dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold. These laid the world away; poured out the red Sweet wine of youth; … Continue reading
The Dead (Rupert Brooke Poem)
Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead! There’s none of these so lonely and poor of old, But, dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold. These laid the world away; poured out the red Sweet wine of youth; … Continue reading
By The Fire-Side (Robert Browning Poem)
I. How well I know what I mean to do When the long dark autumn-evenings come: And where, my soul, is thy pleasant hue? With the music of all thy voices, dumb In life’s November too! II. I shall be … Continue reading
A Grammarian’s Funeral (Robert Browning Poems)
SHORTLY AFTER THE REVIVAL OF LEARNING IN EUROPE. Let us begin and carry up this corpse, Singing together. Leave we the common crofts, the vulgar thorpes Each in its tether Sleeping safe on the bosom of the plain, Cared-for till … Continue reading
231. Epistle to Robert Graham, Esq., of Fintry (Robert Burns Poem)
WHEN Nature her great master-piece design’d, And fram’d her last, best work, the human mind, Her eye intent on all the mazy plan, She form’d of various parts the various Man. Then first she calls the useful many forth; Plain … Continue reading