To Mother, Christmas, 1920 (Mary Webb Poems)
Within the doorway of your room to-nightI stood, and saw your little treasures allSet out beneath the golden candle-light,While silver ...
Within the doorway of your room to-nightI stood, and saw your little treasures allSet out beneath the golden candle-light,While silver ...
Chaucer is dead; and Gower lies in grave;The Earl of Surrey long ago is gone;Sir Philip Sidney's soul the heavens ...
The poetry of earth is never dead:When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,And hide in cooling trees, ...
<i>Money is a kind of poetry.</i>- Wallace StevensMoney, the long green,cash, stash, rhino, jackor just plain dough.Chock it up, fork ...
What feeble and unhappy bards are we,Who trace our lines with over-cunning handUpon a narrow strip of seashore sand,Washed over ...
There is no god but gold, my son,Each man but wins his price.The man who fails is the man to ...
Two boys uncoached are tossing a poem together,Overhand, underhand, backhand, sleight of hand, everyhand,Teasing with attitudes, latitudes, interludes, altitudes,High, make ...
There is a vale which none hath seen,Where foot of man has never been,Such as here lives with toil and ...
When Lydia smiles, I seem to seeThe walls around me fade and flee; And, lo, in haunts of hart and hind I ...
To me the world's an open bookOf sweet and pleasant poetry;I read it in the running brookThat sings its way ...
ON READING HER POEMS. Blest is the bard, whose modest pride, Unlured by vapour gleams of wit, Still clings to nature as a ...
To produce a poem - once a vibrating pain in the tissues was enough and a stock of words no ...
The first blossom glistened with dew -The rest of the world will soon flourish...Sing, Ikhnaton,Sing, Francis of Assisi -Once again ...
One more thing to you, Child, I must tell:Gay this farewell poem, my singing's end;These last waves of silver throb ...
When as our English Poets, those happier menThat can drop wonders from their fluent pen:Have with their miracles of PoetryFeasted ...
In the street Vuk Karadzicwith the cornertwo men curve steel stems.It is a little the work of the poet.Iron like ...
WHO shall tell the song its value:Critic ear, or heart of friend?Who shall weigh your love's completeness?Who shall test the ...
ILife goes by moving,Up and down a chain of moodsWanting what's nothing.IIMy soul is the windDashing down fields of Autumn:O, ...
And I standing in the shadeHave seen it a thousand timesHappen: first theft, then murder;Rape; the rueful actsOf the blind ...
Look at the moon in the midst ofVastly magnificent sky bed;Hear the young winds among bamboo;Feel the air - heavy ...
My great tendernessFor the dead birdsFor the little spidersMy great tendernessFor the women that once were beautifulAnd became uglyFor the ...
one more memoryI have just written a wordI am older by a wordby twoby threeby a poemolder - what does ...
Take a newspaper.Take some scissors.Choose from this paper an article the length you want to make your poem.Cut out the ...
When the writing is going well,I am a prince in a desert palace,fountains flowing in the garden.I lean an elbow ...
We are some disjointed guitars.When the wind blows throughdiscordant lines and sounds awakenin the chainlike strings that dangle.We are some ...
Words of a poem should be glassBut glass so simple-subtle its shapeIs nothing but the shape of what it holds.A ...
When I am making poetry I'm goodAnd happy then.I live in a deep world of angelhoodAfar from men.And all the ...
Before the gate, a guardwith a rifle on his shoulder.In the sky, the moon fleesthrough clouds.Swarming bed bugs,like black army ...
Can Indignation so much Rage infuse?And dwells there then such Malice in a Muse?The sacred Nine, genteel and debonair,Scorn to ...
When I loveI feel that I am the king of timeI possess the earth and everything on itand ride into ...
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