Out Upon It! I Have Lov'dSir John Suckling |
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Out upon it! I have lov'd Three whole days together; And am like to love three more, If it prove fair weather. Time shall moult away his wings, Ere he shall discover In the whole wide world again Such a constant lover. But the spite on 't is, no praise Is due at all to me: Love with me had made no stays, Had it any been but she. Had it any been but she, And that very face, There had been at least ere this A dozen dozen in her place. |
I Wandered Lonely As a CloudWilliam Wordsworth |
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I wondered 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 stretched 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. |
Dust of SnowRobert Frost |
Shook down on me The dust of snow From a hemlock tree
Has given my heart |
Stopping by Woods On a Snowy EveningRobert Frost |
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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. |
To an Athlete Dying YoungA. E. Housman |
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The time you won your town the race We chaired you through the market-place; Man and boy stood cheering by, And home we brought you shoulder-high. To-day, the road all runners come, Shoulder-high we bring you home, And set you at your threshold down, Townsman of a stiller town. Smart lad, to slip betimes away From fields where glory does not stay And early though the laurel grows It withers quicker than the rose. Eyes the shady night has shut Cannot see the record cut, And silence sounds no worse than cheers After earth has stopped the ears: Now you will not swell the rout Of lads that wore their honours out, Runners whom renown outran And the name died before the man. So set, before its echoes fade, The fleet foot on the sill of shade, And hold to the low lintel p The still-defended challenge-cup. And round that early-laurelled head Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead, And find unwithered on its curls The garland briefer than a girl's. |
EldoradoEdgar Allen Poe |
A gallant knight, In sunshine and in shadow, Had journeyed long, Singing a song, In search of Eldorado. But he grew old- This knight so bold- And o'er his heart a shadow Fell as he found No spot of ground That looked like Eldorado. And, as his strength Failed First him at length, He met a pilgrim shadow- "Shadow," said he, "Where can it be- This land of Eldorado?" "Over the Mountains Of the Moon, Down the Valley of the Shadow, Ride, boldly ride," The shade replied,- "If you seek for Eldorado!" |
Love is a Terrible ThingGrace Fallow Norton |
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I went out to the farthest meadow, I lay down in the deepest shadow, And I said unto the earth, "Hold me," And unto the night, "O enfold me," And I begged the little leaves to lean Low and together for a safe screen; Then to the stars I told my tale: "That is my home-light, there in the vale, "And O, I know that I shall return, But let me lie first mid the unfeeling fern. "For there is a flame that has blown too near, And there is a name that has grown too dear And there is a fear ...." And to the still hills and cool earth and far sky I made moan, "The heart in my bosom is not my own! "O would I were free as the wind on the wing; Love is a terrible thing!" |
OzymandiasPercy Bysshe Shelley |
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I met a traveller from an antique land Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed; And on the pedestal these words appear: "My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: "Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!" Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, The lone and level sands stretch far away. |
Finding Is the First ActEmily Dickinson |
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Finding is the first Act The second, loss, Third, Expedition for the "Golden Fleece" Fourth, no Discovery-- Fifth, no Crew-- Finally, no Golden Fleece-- Jason--sham--too. |
Take, Oh Take Those Lips AwayWilliam Shakespeare |
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Take, O take those lips away, That so sweetly were forsworn; And those eyes, the break of day, Lights that do mislead the morn: But my kisses bring again, Bring again, Seals of love, but seal'd in vain, Seal'd in vain. |
O, Mistress Mine, Where Are You Roaming?William Shakespeare |
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O, mistress mine, where are you roaming? O stay and hear; your true love's coming, That can sing both high and low: Trip no further, pretty sweeting; Journeys end in lovers' meeting, Every wise man's son doth know. What is love? 'tis not hereafter; Present mirth hath present laughter; What's to come is still unsure; In delay there lies no plenty; Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure. |
To EarthwardRobert Frost |
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Love at the lips was touch As sweet as I could bear; And phase once that seemed too much; I lived on air That crossed me from sweet things The flow of -- was it musk From hidden grapevine springs Down hill at dusk? I had the swirl and ache From sprays of honeysuckle That when they're gathered shake Dew on the knuckle. I craved strong sweets, but those Seemed strong when I was young; The petal of the rose It was that stung. Now no joy but lacks salt That is not dashed with pain And weariness and fault; I crave the stain Of tears, the aftermark Of almost too much love, The sweet of bitter bark And burning clove. When stiff and sore and scarred I take away my hand From leaning on it hard In grass and sand, The hurt is not enough. I long for weight and strength To feel the earth as rough To all my length. |
Sonnet 116William Shakespeare |
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Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove: Oh no, it is an ever-fixed mark That looks upon tempests and is never shaken. It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, though his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come: Love alters not with his brief days and weeks But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error, and upon me prov'd, I never writ, nor no man ever loved. |
High FlightJohn Gillespie Magee Jr. |
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Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth, And danced the skies on laughter silvered wings; Sunward I've climbed and joined the tumbling mirth Of sun-split clouds and done a hundred things You have not dreamed of -- Wheeled and soared and swung High in the sunlit silence. Hovering there I've chased the shouting wind along and flung My eager craft through footless halls of air. Up, up along delirious, burning blue I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace, Where never lark, or even eagle flew; And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod The high untrespassed sanctity of space, Put out my hand, and touched the face of God. |
Sonnet 18William Shakespeare |
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Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more fair and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date; Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; And every fair from fair sometimes declines, By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd; But thy eternal summer shall not fade Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st; Nor shall Death brag thou wand'rest in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st; So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. |