Happy the lab’rer in his Sunday clothes! In light-drab coat, smart waistcoat, well-darn’d hose, Andhat upon his head, to church he goes; As oft, with conscious pride, he downward throws A glance upon the ample cabbage rose That, stuck in
Give me the Splendid, Silent Sun. by Walt Whitman
1 GIVE me the splendid silent sun, with all his beams full-dazzling; Give me juicy autumnal fruit, ripe and red from the orchard; Give me a field where the unmow’d grass grows; Give me an arbor, give me the trellis’d
His Confidence by William Butler Yeats
Undying love to buy I wrote upon The corners of this eye All wrongs done. What payment were enough For undying love? I broke my heart in two So hard I struck. What matter? for I know That out of
Mock Panegyric on a Young Friend by Jane Austen
In measured verse I’ll now rehearse The charms of lovely Anna: And, first, her mind is unconfined Like any vast savannah. Ontario’s lake may fitly speak Her fancy’s ample bound: Its circuit may, on strict survey Five hundred miles be
A Dialogue Of Self And Soul by William Butler Yeats
My Soul. I summon to the winding ancient stair; Set all your mind upon the steep ascent, Upon the broken, crumbling battlement, Upon the breathless starlit air, “Upon the star that marks the hidden pole; Fix every wandering thought upon
To The Men Of England by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Men of England, wherefore plough For the lords who lay ye low? Wherefore weave with toil and care The rich robes your tyrants wear? Wherefore feed and clothe and save, From the cradle to the grave, Those ungrateful drones who
Unnamed Lands. by Walt Whitman
NATIONS ten thousand years before These States, and many times ten thousand years before These States; Garner’d clusters of ages, that men and women like us grew up and travel’d their course, and pass’d on; What vast-built cities—what orderly republics—what
The City In The Sea by Edgar Allan Poe
Lo! Death has reared himself a throne In a strange city lying alone Far down within the dim West, Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best Have gone to their eternal rest. There shrines and
Of A Ministry Pitiful, Angry, Mean by Jane Austen
Of a Ministry pitiful, angry, mean, A gallant commander the victim is seen. For promptitude, vigour, success, does he stand Condemn’d to receive a severe reprimand! To his foes I could wish a resemblance in fate: That they, too, may
The Bells by Edgar Allan Poe
I Hear the sledges with the bells- Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night! While the stars that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With