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epf-001324 | The door was opened and I saw you there
And for the first time heard you speak my name.
Then like the sun your sweetness overcame
My shy and shadowy mood; I was aware
That joy was hidden in your happy hair,
And that for you love held no hint of shame;
My eyes caught light from yours, within whose flame
Humor and passio... | To E | Sara Teasdale | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000970 | from Sonnets, Second Series
XXIX
How oft in schoolboy-days, from the school’s sway
Have I run forth to Nature as to a friend,—
With some pretext of o’erwrought sight, to spend
My school-time in green meadows far away!
Careless of summoning bell, or clocks that strike,
I marked with flowers the minutes o... | “How oft in schoolboy-days, from the school’s sway” | Frederick Goddard Tuckerman | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000807 | MY future will not copy fair my past
On any leaf but Heaven's. Be fully done,
Supernal Will ! I would not fain be one
Who, satisfying thirst and breaking fast
Upon the fulness of the heart, at last
Saith no grace after meat. My wine hath run
Indeed out of my cup, and there is none
To gather up the bread of my repast
Sc... | Past and Future | Elizabeth Barrett Browning | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000490 | Thus from a mixture of all kinds began,
That het’rogeneous thing, an Englishman:
In eager rapes, and furious lust begot,
Betwixt a painted Britain and a Scot.
Whose gend’ring off-spring quickly learn’d to bow,
And yoke their heifers to the Roman plough:
From whence a mongrel half-bred race there came,
With neither name... | from The True Born Englishman | Daniel Defoe | 1 | couplet |
epf-001008 | Madam would speak with me. So, now it comes:
The Deluge or else Fire! She’s well; she thanks
My husbandship. Our chain on silence clanks.
Time leers between, above his twiddling thumbs.
Am I quite well? Most excellent in health!
The journals, too, I diligently peruse.
Vesuvius is expected to give news:
Niagara is no no... | Modern Love: XXXIV | George Meredith | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001143 | We climb the slopes of life with throbbing heart,
And eager pulse, like children toward a star.
Sweet siren music cometh from afar,
To lure us on meanwhile. Responsive start
The nightingales to richer song than Art
Can ever teach. No passing shadows mar
Awhile the dewy skies; no inner jar
Of conflict bids us with our q... | Aspiration | Henrietta Cordelia Ray | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000453 | C. Damon, come drive thy flocks this way.
D. No, ’tis too late; they went astray.
C. I have a grassy scutcheon spied,
Where Flora blazons all her pride.
The grass I aim to feast thy sheep:
The flowers I for thy temples keep.
D. Grass withers; and the flowers too fade.
C. Seize the short joys then, ere they vade,
... | Clorinda and Damon | Andrew Marvell | 10 | pastoral |
epf-001371 | Oh, oh, you will be sorry for that word!
Give back my book and take my kiss instead.
Was it my enemy or my friend I heard,
“What a big book for such a little head!”
Come, I will show you now my newest hat,
And you may watch me purse my mouth and prink!
Oh, I shall love you still, and all of that.
I never again shall te... | Oh, oh, you will be sorry for that word! | Edna St. Vincent Millay | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001395 | I long not now, a little while at least,
For that serene interminable hour
When I shall leave this barmecidal feast,
With poppy for my everlasting flower.
I long not now for that dim cubicle
Of earth to which my lease will not expire,
Where he who comes a tenant there may dwell
Without a thought of famine, flood, or fi... | Protest | Countee Cullen | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001066 | The Mushroom is the Elf of Plants -
At Evening, it is not
At Morning, in a Truffled Hut
It stop opon a Spot
As if it tarried always
And yet it’s whole Career
Is shorter than a Snake’s Delay -
And fleeter than a Tare -
’Tis Vegetation’s Juggler -
The Germ of Alibi -
Doth like a Bubble antedate
And like a Bubble, hie -... | The Mushroom is the Elf of Plants - (1350) | Emily Dickinson | 12 | quatrain |
epf-000431 | Proem.
Although great Queen, thou now in silence lie,
Yet thy loud Herald Fame, doth to the sky
Thy wondrous worth proclaim, in every clime,
And so has vow’d, whilst there is world or time.
So great’s thy glory, and thine excellence,
The sound thereof raps every human sense
That men account it no impiety
To say thou we... | In Honour of that High and Mighty Princess, Queen Elizabeth | Anne Bradstreet | 4 | elegy |
epf-001151 | Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! whare the crick so still and deep
Looked like a baby-river that was laying half asleep,
And the gurgle of the worter round the drift jest below
Sounded like the laugh of something we onc't ust to know
Before we could remember anything but the eyes
Of the angels lookin' out as we left Paradise... | The Old Swimmin' Hole | James Whitcomb Riley | 1 | couplet |
epf-001452 | Alas, so all things now do hold their peace,
Heaven and earth disturbèd in no thing;
The beasts, the air, the birds their song do cease;
The nightes car the stars about doth bring.
Calm is the sea, the waves work less and less.
So am not I, whom love, alas, doth wring,
Bringing before my face the great increase
Of my d... | Sonnet 12 [Alas, so all things now do hold their peace] | Henry Howard | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000068 | Brutus speaks at a pulpit
Be patient till the last.
Romans, countrymen, and lovers, hear me for my
cause, and be silent that you may hear. Believe me
for mine honor, and have respect to mine honor
that you may believe. Censure me in your wisdom,
and awake your senses that you may the better
judge. If there be any in t... | Julius Caesar, Act III, Scene II [Be patient till the last] | William Shakespeare | 8 | dramatic monologue |
epf-001390 | I said, in drunken pride of youth and you
That mischief-making Time would never dare
Play his ill-humored tricks upon us two,
Strange and defiant lovers that we were.
I said that even Death, Highwayman Death,
Could never master lovers such as we,
That even when his clutch had throttled breath,
My hymns would float in p... | Challenge | Sterling A. Brown | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000692 | There is delight in singing, tho’ none hear
Beside the singer; and there is delight
In praising, tho’ the praiser sit alone
And see the prais’d far off him, far above.
Shakspeare is not our poet, but the world’s,
Therefore on him no speech! and brief for thee,
Browning! Since Chaucer was alive and hale,
No man hath wal... | To Robert Browning | Walter Savage Landor | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000662 | The gallant Youth, who may have gained,
Or seeks, a "winsome Marrow,"
Was but an Infant in the lap
When first I looked on Yarrow;
Once more, by Newark's Castle-gate
Long left without a warder,
I stood, looked, listened, and with Thee,
Great Minstrel of the Border!
Grave thoughts ruled wide on that sweet da... | Yarrow Revisited | William Wordsworth | 2 | common measure |
epf-000468 | Farewell, too little and too lately known,
Whom I began to think and call my own;
For sure our souls were near ally'd; and thine
Cast in the same poetic mould with mine.
One common note on either lyre did strike,
And knaves and fools we both abhorr'd alike:
To the same goal did both our studies drive,
The last set out ... | To the Memory of Mr. Oldham | John Dryden | 1 | couplet |
epf-000026 | The sovereign beauty which I do admire,
Witness the world how worthy to be praised:
The light whereof hath kindled heavenly fire
In my frail spirit, by her from baseness raised;
That being now with her huge brightness dazed,
Base thing I can no more endure to view;
But looking still on her, I stand amazed
At wondrous s... | Amoretti III: The Sovereign Beauty | Edmund Spenser | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000040 | When Nature made her chief work, Stella's eyes,
In colour black why wrapt she beams so bright?
Would she in beamy black, like painter wise,
Frame daintiest lustre, mix'd of shades and light?
Or did she else that sober hue devise,
In object best to knit and strength our sight;
Lest, if no veil these brave gleams did dis... | Astrophil and Stella 7: When Nature made her chief work, Stella's eyes | Sir Philip Sidney | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000957 | On the beach at night,
Stands a child with her father,
Watching the east, the autumn sky.
Up through the darkness,
While ravening clouds, the burial clouds, in black masses spreading,
Lower sullen and fast athwart and down the sky,
Amid a transparent clear belt of ether yet left in the east,
Ascends large and calm the... | On the Beach at Night | Walt Whitman | 5 | free verse |
epf-000832 | The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
Along the sea-sands damp and brown
The traveller hastens toward the town,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
Darkness settles on roofs and walls,
But the sea, the sea in the darkness calls;
The little waves, with their soft, white hands,
Ef... | The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | 1 | couplet |
epf-000314 | When my grave is broke up again
Some second guest to entertain,
(For graves have learn'd that woman head,
To be to more than one a bed)
And he that digs it, spies
A bracelet of bright hair about the bone,
Will he not let'us alone,
And think that there a loving couple... | The Relic | John Donne | 1 | couplet |
epf-000351 | I would to God, that mine old age might have
Before my last, but here a living grave;
Some one poor almshouse, there to lie, or stir,
Ghost-like, as in my meaner sepulchre;
A little piggin, and a pipkin by,
To hold things fitting my necessity,
Which, rightly us'd, both in their time and place,
Might me excite to fore, ... | His Wish to God | Robert Herrick | 1 | couplet |
epf-000142 | Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,
Some in their wealth, some in their bodies’ force,
Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill,
Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horses;
And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure,
Wherein it finds a joy above the rest:
But these particulars are not my mea... | Some glory in their birth, some in their skill (Sonnet 91) | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000163 | Those parts of thee that the world’s eye doth view
Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend;
All tongues, the voice of souls, give thee that due,
Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend.
Thy outward thus with outward praise is crown’d;
But those same tongues that give thee so thine own
In other accents do ... | Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view (Sonnet 69) | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000681 | Water and windmills, greenness, Islets green;—
Willows whose Trunks beside the shadows stood
Of their own higher half, and willowy swamp:—
Farmhouses that at anchor seem'd—in the inland sky
The fog-transfixing Spires—
Water, wide water, greenness and green banks,
And water seen— | Fragment 9: The Netherlands | Samuel Taylor Coleridge | 10 | pastoral |
epf-000097 | O me, what eyes hath Love put in my head,
Which have no correspondence with true sight!
Or, if the have, where is my judgement fled,
That censures falsely what they see aright?
If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote,
What means the world to say it is not so?
If it be not, then love doth well denote
Love’s eye is no... | O me, what eyes hath Love put in my head (Sonnet 148) | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000338 | Farewell, thou child of my right hand, and joy;
My sin was too much hope of thee, lov'd boy.
Seven years tho' wert lent to me, and I thee pay,
Exacted by thy fate, on the just day.
O, could I lose all father now! For why
Will man lament the state he should envy?
To have so soon 'scap'd world's and flesh's rage,
And if ... | On my First Son | Ben Jonson | 4 | elegy |
epf-000981 | Far, far from here,
The Adriatic breaks in a warm bay
Among the green Illyrian hills; and there
The sunshine in the happy glens is fair,
And by the sea, and in the brakes.
The grass is cool, the sea-side air
Buoyant and fresh, the mountain flowers
More virginal and sweet than ours.
And there, they say, two bright and ... | Cadmus and Harmonia | Matthew Arnold | 10 | pastoral |
epf-001285 | Lilacs,
False blue,
White,
Purple,
Color of lilac,
Your great puffs of flowers
Are everywhere in this my New England.
Among your heart-shaped leaves
Orange orioles hop like music-box birds and sing
Their little weak soft songs;
In the crooks of your branches
The bright eyes of song sparrows sitting on spotted eggs
Peer... | Lilacs | Amy Lowell | 5 | free verse |
epf-001142 | O peerless marble marvel! what of grace,
Or matchless symmetry is not enshrined
In thy rare contours! Could we hope to find
The regal dignity of that fair face
In aught less beautiful? We would retrace,
At sight of thee, our willing steps where wind
The paths great Homer trod. Within whose mind
Wast thou a dream, O God... | The Venus of Milo | Henrietta Cordelia Ray | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001376 | Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane;
But last year's bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my hea... | Time does not bring relief (Sonnet II) | Edna St. Vincent Millay | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001320 | I have not walked on common ground,
Nor drunk of earthly streams;
A shining figure, mailed and crowned,
Moves softly through my dreams.
He makes the air so keen and strange,
The stars so fiercely bright;
The rocks of time, the tides of change,
Are nothing in his sight.
Death lays no shadow on his smile;
Life is a rac... | Vision | Marjorie Pickthall | 2 | common measure |
epf-000039 | Let dainty wits cry on the sisters nine,
That, bravely mask'd, their fancies may be told;
Or, Pindar's apes, flaunt they in phrases fine,
Enam'ling with pied flowers their thoughts of gold.
Or else let them in statelier glory shine,
Ennobling newfound tropes with problems old;
Or with strange similes enrich each line,
... | Astrophil and Stella 3: Let dainty wits cry on the sisters nine | Sir Philip Sidney | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001016 | Love ere he bleeds, an eagle in high skies,
Has earth beneath his wings: from reddened eve
He views the rosy dawn. In vain they weave
The fatal web below while far he flies.
But when the arrow strikes him, there’s a change.
He moves but in the track of his spent pain,
Whose red drops are the links of a harsh chain,
Bin... | Modern Love: XXVI | George Meredith | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000998 | Oh mighty City of New York! you are wonderful to behold,
Your buildings are magnificent, the truth be it told,
They were the only thing that seemed to arrest my eye,
Because many of them are thirteen storeys high.
And as for Central Park, it is lovely to be seen,
Especially in the summer season when its shrubberies an... | Jottings of New York: A Descriptive Poem | Knight of the White Elephant of Burmah William McGonagall | 1 | couplet |
epf-000055 | I, with whose colours Myra dress’d her head,
I, that ware posies of her own hand-making,
I, that mine own name in the chimneys read
By Myra finely wrought ere I was waking:
Must I look on, in hope time coming may
With change bring back my turn again to play?
I, that on Sunday at the church-st... | Caelica 22: I, with whose colours Myra dress’d her head | Baron Brooke Fulke Greville | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000199 | Let those who are in favour with their stars
Of public honour and proud titles boast
Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars,
Unlook’d for joy in that I honour most.
Great princes’ favourites their fair leaves spread
But as the marigold at the sun’s eye,
And in themselves their pride lies buried,
For at a frown the... | Let those who are in favour with their stars (Sonnet 25) | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000863 | The sun, the moon, the stars, the seas, the hills and the plains,-
Are not these, O Soul, the Vision of Him who reigns?
Is not the Vision He, tho' He be not that which He seems?
Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams?
Earth, these solid stars, this weight of body and limb,
Are they not sign and... | The Higher Pantheism | Lord Tennyson Alfred | 1 | couplet |
epf-000285 | Sextus upon a spleen, did rashly swear,
That no new fashion he would ever wear.
He was forsworn, for see what did ensue,
He wore the old, till the old was the new.
| Book 6, Epigram 17: In Sextum. | Thomas Bastard | 1 | couplet |
epf-001331 | Withouten you
No rose can grow;
No leaf be green
If never seen
Your sweetest face;
No bird have grace
Or power to sing;
Or anything
Be kind, or fair,
And you nowhere. | Little Elegy | Elinor Wylie | 4 | elegy |
epf-000203 | So is it not with me as with that Muse
Stirr’d by a painted beauty to his verse,
Who heaven itself for ornament doth use
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse;
Making a couplement of proud compare,
With sun and moon, with earth and sea’s rich gems,
With April’s first-born flowers, and all things rare
That heaven’s... | So is it not with me as with that Muse (Sonnet 21) | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001256 | Be still. The Hanging Gardens were a dream
That over Persian roses flew to kiss
The curlèd lashes of Semiramis.
Troy never was, nor green Skamander stream.
Provence and Troubadour are merest lies
The glorious hair of Venice was a beam
Made within Titian’s eye. The sunsets seem,
The world is very old and nothing is.
Be ... | Be Still. The Hanging Gardens were a Dream | Trumbull Stickney | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000718 | 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 lifel... | Ozymandias | Percy Bysshe Shelley | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001417 | Each year I mark one lone outstanding tree,
Clad in its robings of the summer past,
Dry, wan, and shivering in the wintry blast.
It will not pay the season’s rightful fee,—
It will not set its frost-burnt leafage free;
But like some palsied miser all aghast,
Who hoards his sordid treasure to the last,
It sighs, it moan... | Winter Leafage | Edith Matilda Thomas | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000009 | Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind,
But as for me, hélas, I may no more.
The vain travail hath wearied me so sore,
I am of them that farthest cometh behind.
Yet may I by no means my wearied mind
Draw from the deer, but as she fleeth afore
Fainting I follow. I leave off therefore,
Sithens in a net I seek to hol... | Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind | Thomas Wyatt | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000670 | With Donne, whose muse on dromedary trots,
Wreathe iron pokers into true-love knots;
Rhyme's sturdy cripple, fancy's maze and clue,
Wit's forge and fire-blast, meaning's press and screw. | On Donne's Poetry | Samuel Taylor Coleridge | 1 | couplet |
epf-001433 | I know not why, but it is true—it may,
In some way, be because he was a child
Of the fierce sun where I first wept and smiled—
I love the dark-browed Poe. His feverish day
Was spent in dreams inspired, that him beguiled,
When not along his path shone forth one ray
Of light, of hope, to guide him on the way,
That to ear... | Edgar Allan Poe | Timothy Thomas Fortune | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001051 | Your hands lie open in the long fresh grass,—
The finger-points look through like rosy blooms:
Your eyes smile peace. The pasture gleams and glooms
'Neath billowing skies that scatter and amass.
All round our nest, far as the eye can pass,
Are golden kingcup fields with silver edge
Where the cow-parsley ski... | The House of Life: 19. Silent Noon | Dante Gabriel Rossetti | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000328 | Good and great God, can I not think of thee
But it must straight my melancholy be?
Is it interpreted in me disease
That, laden with my sins, I seek for ease?
Oh be thou witness, that the reins dost know
And hearts of all, if I be sad for show,
And judge me after; if I dare pretend
To ought but grace or aim at other end... | To Heaven | Ben Jonson | 1 | couplet |
epf-000973 | from Sonnets, Third Series
V
How well do I recall that walk in state
Across the Common, by the paths we knew:
Myself in silver badge and riband blue,
My little sister with her book and slate;
The elm tree by the Pond, the fence of wood,
The burial place that at the corner stood
Where once we cro... | “How well do I recall that walk in state” | Frederick Goddard Tuckerman | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000072 | Then let not Winter's ragged hand deface,
In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd:
Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place
With beauty's treasure ere it be self-kill'd.
That use is not forbidden usury,
Which happies those that pay the willing loan;
That's for thyself to breed another thee,
Or ten times happier... | Then let not winter's ragged hand deface (Sonnet 6) | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000864 | Dosn't thou 'ear my 'erse's legs, as they canters awaäy?
Proputty, proputty, proputty—that's what I 'ears 'em saäy.
Proputty, proputty, proputty—Sam, thou's an ass for thy paaïns:
Theer's moor sense i' one o' 'is legs, nor in all thy braaïns.
Woä—theer's a craw to pluck wi' tha, Sam; yon 's parson's 'ouse—
Dosn't tho... | Northern Farmer: New Style | Lord Tennyson Alfred | 1 | couplet |
epf-001155 | When I am grown to man's estate
I shall be very proud and great,
And tell the other girls and boys
Not to meddle with my toys. | Looking Forward | Robert Louis Stevenson | 1 | couplet |
epf-001018 | The misery is greater, as I live!
To know her flesh so pure, so keen her sense,
That she does penance now for no offence,
Save against Love. The less can I forgive!
The less can I forgive, though I adore
That cruel lovely pallor which surrounds
Her footsteps; and the low vibrating sounds
That come on me, as from a magi... | Modern Love: XXIV | George Meredith | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000187 | Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all;
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call;
All mine was thine before thou hadst this more.
Then if for my love thou my love receivest,
I cannot blame thee for my love thou usest;
But yet be blamed, if thou thyself de... | Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all; (Sonnet 40) | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001411 | You are disdainful and magnificent—
Your perfect body and your pompous gait,
Your dark eyes flashing solemnly with hate,
Small wonder that you are incompetent
To imitate those whom you so despise—
Your shoulders towering high above the throng,
Your head thrown back in rich, barbaric song,
Palm trees and mangoes stretch... | Sonnet to a Negro in Harlem | Helene Johnson | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000136 | Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget’st so long
To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?
Spend’st thou thy fury on some worthless song,
Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light?
Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem
In gentle numbers time so idly spent;
Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem
A... | Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long (Sonnet 100) | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001359 | For the dim regions whence my fathers came
My spirit, bondaged by the body, longs.
Words felt, but never heard, my lips would frame;
My soul would sing forgotten jungle songs.
I would go back to darkness and to peace,
But the great western world holds me in fee,
And I may never hope for full release
While to its alien ... | Outcast | Claude McKay | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000854 | By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have reached these lands but newly
From an ultimate dim Thule—
From a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime,
Out of SPACE—Out of TIME.
Bottomless vales and boundless floods,
A... | Dream-Land | Edgar Allan Poe | 1 | couplet |
epf-000579 | A little black thing among the snow,
Crying "weep! 'weep!" in notes of woe!
"Where are thy father and mother? say?"
"They are both gone up to the church to pray.
Because I was happy upon the heath,
And smil'd among the winter's snow,
They clothed me in the clothes of death,
And taught me to sing the notes of woe.
And... | The Chimney Sweeper: A little black thing among the snow | William Blake | 1 | couplet |
epf-000936 | Fair maid! believe me, love is like a lake,
Whose crystal depths reflect thy brow of snow;
The roses on thy cheek that come and go,
When in thy azure eyes the smiles awake,
No passing winds the liquid mirror wake,
The cool refreshing airs so softly blow.
But hidden currents in the depths below
The angr... | Love | Hermogénes Irisarri | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000891 | Out of your whole life give but a moment!
All of your life that has gone before,
All to come after it,—so you ignore,
So you make perfect the present,—condense,
In a rapture of rage, for perfection’s endowment,
Thought and feeling and soul and sense—
Merged in a moment which gives me at last
You around me for once, you... | Now | Robert Browning | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000003 | If no love is, O God, what fele I so?
And if love is, what thing and which is he?
If love be good, from whennes cometh my woo?
If it be wikke, a wonder thynketh me,
When every torment and adversite
That cometh of hym, may to me savory thinke,
For ay thurst I, the more that ich it drynke.
And if ... | Sonnet 102 [If no love is, O God, what fele I so?] | Petrarch | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000751 | O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings; climb with me the steep,—
Nature’s observatory—whence the dell,
Its flowery slopes, its river’s crystal swell,
May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
’Mongst boughs pavillion’d, where the deer’s swift leap
Startles the wild... | Sonnet VII [O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell] | John Keats | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000679 | Lines Composed 21st February 1825
All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair—
The bees are stirring—birds are on the wing—
And Winter slumbering in the open air,
Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!
And I the while, the sole unbusy thing,
Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.
Yet well ... | Work without Hope | Samuel Taylor Coleridge | 10 | pastoral |
epf-000385 | When I consider how my light is spent,
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one Talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my Soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide;
“Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?”
... | Sonnet 19: When I consider how my light is spent | John Milton | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001447 | In night when colors all to black are cast,
Distinction lost, or gone down with the light;
The eye a watch to inward senses placed,
Not seeing, yet still having powers of sight,
Gives vain alarums to the inward sense,
Where fear stirred up with witty tyranny,
Confounds all powers, and thorough self-offense,
Doth forge... | Sonnet 100 | Lord Brooke Fulke Greville | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000666 | Ere on my bed my limbs I lay,
It hath not been my use to pray
With moving lips or bended knees;
But silently, by slow degrees,
My spirit I to Love compose,
In humble trust mine eye-lids close,
With reverential resignation
No wish conceived, no thought exprest,
Only a sense of supplication;
A sense o'er all my soul impr... | The Pains of Sleep | Samuel Taylor Coleridge | 1 | couplet |
epf-000636 | And is this—Yarrow?—This the stream
Of which my fancy cherished,
So faithfully, a waking dream?
An image that hath perished!
O that some Minstrel's harp were near,
To utter notes of gladness,
And chase this silence from the air,
That fills my heart with sadness!
Yet why?—a silvery current flows
With uncontrolled meand... | Yarrow Visited. September, 1814 | William Wordsworth | 3 | ballad |
epf-001124 | Justus quidem tu es, Domine, si disputem tecum; verumtamen
justa loquar ad te: Quare via impiorum prosperatur? &c.
Thou art indeed just, Lord, if I contend
With thee; but, sir, so what I plead is just.
Why do sinners’ ways prosper? and why must
Disappointment all I endeavour end?
Wert thou my enemy, O thou my frie... | Thou art indeed just, Lord, if I contend' | Gerard Manley Hopkins | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000932 | There's little joy in life for me,
And little terror in the grave;
I 've lived the parting hour to see
Of one I would have died to save.
Calmly to watch the failing breath,
Wishing each sigh might be the last;
Longing to see the shade of death
O'er those belovèd features cast.
The cloud, the s... | On the Death of Anne Brontë | Charlotte Brontë | 4 | elegy |
epf-001444 | Unfortunately drowned in the River Avon, near Bath, October 15, 1743
Why dash the floods! What cries my soul affright!
How steep the precipice! How dark the night!
Then Virtue sunk in Avon’s fatal wave,
No friend to succour, no kind hand to save;
The circling waters hide his sinking head,
The treach’rous bottom forms... | On the Death of Sir Erasmus Philips | Anna Williams | 4 | elegy |
epf-001442 | Mondego! thou, whose waters cold and clear
Gird those green banks, where fancy fain would stay,
Fondly to muse on that departed day
When Hope was kind and Friendship seem’d sincere;
—Ere I had purchas’d knowledge with a tear.
—Mondego! though I bend my pilgrim way
To other shores, where other fountains stray,
And ... | Sonnet VIII | Luís de Camões | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000870 | I
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
“Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!” he said.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
II
“Forward, the Light Brigade!”
Was there a man dismayed?
Not though the soldier knew
Someone had b... | The Charge of the Light Brigade | Lord Tennyson Alfred | 4 | elegy |
epf-000522 | SILLIANDER and PATCH. THOU so many favours hast receiv'd,
Wondrous to tell, and hard to be believ'd,
Oh ! H—— D, to my lays attention lend,
Hear how two lovers boastingly contend ;
Like thee successful, such their bloomy youth,
Renown'd alike for gallantry and truth.
St. JAMES's bell had toll'd some wretches in,
(As t... | Town Eclogues: Tuesday; St. James's Coffee-House | Lady Mary Wortley Montagu | 1 | couplet |
epf-000980 | Through the black, rushing smoke-bursts,
Thick breaks the red flame;
All Etna heaves fiercely
Her forest-clothed frame.
Not here, O Apollo!
Are haunts meet for thee.
But, where Helicon breaks down
In cliff to the sea,
Where the moon-silver'd inlets
Send far their light voice
Up the still vale of Thisbe,
O speed, and ... | Apollo Musagetes | Matthew Arnold | 10 | pastoral |
epf-000836 | Southward with fleet of ice
Sailed the corsair Death;
Wild and gast blew the blast,
And the east-wind was his breath.
His lordly ships of ice
Glisten in the sun;
On each side, like pennons wide,
Flashing crystal streamlets run.
His sails of white sea-mist
Dripped with silver rain;
But where he passed there were cast
... | Sir Humphrey Gilbert | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | 2 | common measure |
epf-001009 | ‘In Paris, at the Louvre, there have I seen
The sumptuously-feathered angel pierce
Prone Lucifer, descending. Looked he fierce,
Showing the fight a fair one? Too serene!
The young Pharsalians did not disarray
Less willingly their locks of floating silk:
That suckling mouth of his, upon the milk
Of heaven might still be... | Modern Love: XXXIII | George Meredith | 0 | sonnet |
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