The Cross-Roads (Amy Lowell Poem)
A bullet through his heart at dawn. On the table a letter signed with a woman's name. A wind that ...
Poems about wrenched (27 Poems)
THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Poem)
This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling, Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms; But front their silent ...
With Scindia to Delphi (Rudyard Kipling Poem)
More than a hundred years ago, in a great battle fought near Delhi, an Indian Prince rode fifty miles after ...
The Palace (Rudyard Kipling Poem)
When I was a King and a Mason -- a Master proven and skilled -- I cleared me ground for ...
The Old Issue (Rudyard Kipling Poem)
Here is nothing new nor aught unproven," say the Trumpets, "Many feet have worn it and the road is old ...
The English Flag (Rudyard Kipling Poem)
Above the portico a flag-staff, bearing the Union Jack, remained fluttering in the flames for some time, but ultimately when ...
The Derelict (Rudyard Kipling Poem)
And reports the derelict Mary Pollock still at sea. SHIPPING NEWS. I was the staunchest of our fleet Till the ...
The Tree: An Old Man’s Story (Thomas Hardy Poems)
I Its roots are bristling in the air Like some mad Earth-god's spiny hair; The loud south-wester's swell and yell ...
The Levelled Churchyard (Thomas Hardy Poem)
"O passenger, pray list and catch Our sighs and piteous groans, Half stifled in this jumbled patch Of wrenched memorial ...
Yvytot (Eugene Field Poem)
Where wail the waters in their flaw A spectre wanders to and fro, And evermore that ghostly shore Bemoans the ...
Prof. vere de blaw (Eugene Field Poem)
Achievin' sech distinction with his moddel tabble dote Ez to make his Red Hoss Mountain restauraw a place uv note, ...
To make One’s Toilette — after Death (Emily Dickinson Poems)
To make One's Toilette -- after Death Has made the Toilette cool Of only Taste we cared to please Is ...
Time to play (Ivan Donn Carswell Poem)
It is a pristine page, clean on the blue screen where I compose, I don't expect it to stay that ...
The Last Hero (G. K. Chesterton Poem)
The wind blew out from Bergen, from the dawning to the day There was a wreck of trees, a fall ...
The Rime Of The Ancient Mariner (Samuel Coleridge Poem)
Part I It is an ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one of three. 'By thy long grey beard and glittering ...
The Three Voices (Lewis Carroll Poem)
The First Voice HE trilled a carol fresh and free, He laughed aloud for very glee: There came a breeze ...
The Fiddling Wood (Stephen Vincent Benet Poem)
Gods, what a black, fierce day! The clouds were iron, Wrenched to strange, rugged shapes; the red sun winked Over ...
The Drug-Shop, or, Endymion in Edmonstoun (Stephen Vincent Benet Poem)
"Oh yes, I went over to Edmonstoun the other day and saw Johnny, mooning around as usual! He will never ...
Mazeppa (Lord Byron Poem)
'Twas after dread Pultowa's day, When fortune left the royal Swede - Around a slaughtered army lay, No more to ...
The Confessional (Robert Browning Poem)
I. It is a lie---their Priests, their Pope, Their Saints, their ... all they fear or hope Are lies, ...
To A Mountain Daisy (Robert Burns Poems)
ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH, IN APRIL, 1786 Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r, Thou's met me in an evil ...
Who In The Hell Is Tom Jones? (Charles Bukowski Poems)
I was shacked with a 24 year old girl from New York City for two weeks- about the time of ...
Aunt Imogen (Edwin Arlington Robinson Poems)
Aunt Imogen was coming, and therefore The children-Jane, Sylvester, and Young George- Were eyes and ears; for there was only ...
The Convent Threshold (Christina Rossetti Poems)
There's blood between us, love, my love, There's father's blood, there's brother's blood, And blood's a bar I cannot pass. ...
Monologue At 3 AM (Sylvia Plath Poems)
Better that every fiber crack and fury make head, blood drenching vivid couch, carpet, floor and the snake-figured almanac vouching ...
King Arthur’s Tomb (William Morris Poems)
Hot August noon: already on that day Since sunrise through the Wiltshire downs, most sad Of mouth and eye, he ...
The Illinois Village (Vachel Lindsay Poems)
O you who lose the art of hope, Whose temples seem to shrine a lie, Whose sidewalks are but stones ...