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epf-001252 | What is the current that makes machinery, that makes it crackle, what is the current that presents a long line and a necessary waist. What is this current.
What is the wind, what is it.
Where is the serene length, it is there and a dark place is not a dark place, only a white and red are black, only a yellow and gre... | Tender Buttons [A Long Dress] | Gertrude Stein | 9 | prose poem |
epf-001421 | The skin of the sea was thick, to-night,
And the tone of the sea was dull;
When I found by the edge of the sullen sea
The half of a sea-god’s skull.
Half of a sea-god’s skull was there,
Half of a sea-god’s tail.
When I dug them out of the clutch of the sand
The peering moon went pale.
The peering moon went pale, beca... | Skull Song | Genevieve Taggard | 3 | ballad |
epf-000569 | Colin, why this mistake?
Why plead thy foolish love?
My heart shall sooner break
Than I a minion prove;
Nor care I half a rush,
No snare I spread for thee:
Go home, my friend, and blush
For love and liberty.
Remembrance is my own —
Dominion bright and clear,
Truth there was ever known
To combat every care:
One i... | The Indifferent Shepherdess to Colin | Ann Yearsley | 10 | pastoral |
epf-000596 | [First Setting]
Comin thro' the rye, poor body,
Comin thro' the rye,
She draigl't a' her petticoatie
Comin thro' the rye.
[CHORUS.]
Oh Jenny 's a' weet poor body
Jenny 's seldom dry,
She draigl't a' her petticoatie
Comin thro' the rye.
Gin a body meet a body... | Comin thro' the Rye | Robert Burns | 3 | ballad |
epf-001274 | The chatter of little people
Breaks on my purpose
Like the water-drops which slowly wear the rocks to powder.
And while I laugh
My spirit crumbles at their teasing touch. | Aliens | Amy Lowell | 5 | free verse |
epf-000260 | O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide,
The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds,
That did not better for my life provide
Than public means which public manners breeds.
Thence comes it that my name receives a brand,
And almost thence my nature is subdu'd
To what it works in, like the dyer's hand.
Pity me then and wish ... | Sonnet 111: O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide, | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000701 | The Year’s twelve daughters had in turn gone by,
Of measured pace tho’ varying mien all twelve,
Some froward, some sedater, some adorn’d
For festival, some reckless of attire.
The snow had left the mountain-top; fresh flowers
Had withered in the meadow; fig and prune
Hung wrinkling; the last apple glow’d amid
Its freck... | Acon and Rhodope; or, Inconstancy | Walter Savage Landor | 6 | blank verse |
epf-000434 | When Love with unconfinèd wings
Hovers within my Gates,
And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at the Grates;
When I lie tangled in her hair,
And fettered to her eye,
The Gods that wanton in the Air,
Know no such Liberty.
When flowing Cups run swiftly round
With no allaying Thames,
Our careless heads with Roses b... | To Althea, from Prison | Richard Lovelace | 2 | common measure |
epf-000859 | Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font.
The firefly wakens; waken thou with me.
Now droops the milk-white peacock like a ghost,
And like a ghost she glimmers on to me.
Now lies the Earth all Danaë to the stars,
And all t... | from The Princess: Now Sleeps the Crimson Petal | Lord Tennyson Alfred | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000549 | 1
God moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.
2
Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never-failing skill,
He treasures up his bright designs,
And works his sov'reign will.
3
Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,
The clouds ye so much dr... | Light Shining out of Darkness | William Cowper | 2 | common measure |
epf-001076 | It sifts from Leaden Sieves -
It powders all the Wood.
It fills with Alabaster Wool
The Wrinkles of the Road -
It makes an even Face
Of Mountain, and of Plain -
Unbroken Forehead from the East
Unto the East again -
It reaches to the Fence -
It wraps it Rail by Rail
Till it is lost in Fleeces -
It deals Celestial Vail... | It sifts from Leaden Sieves - (291) | Emily Dickinson | 2 | common measure |
epf-001347 | Not that I always struck the proper mean
Of what mankind must give for what they gain,
But, when I think of those whom dull routine
And the pursuit of cheerless toil enchain,
Who from their desk-chairs seeing a summer cloud
Race through blue heaven on its joyful course
Sigh sometimes for a life less cramped and bowed,
... | Sonnet II | Alan Seeger | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000747 | To one who has been long in city pent,
’Tis very sweet to look into the fair
And open face of heaven,—to breathe a prayer
Full in the smile of the blue firmament.
Who is more happy, when, with hearts content,
Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair
Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair
And gentle tale of love a... | Sonnet X [To one who has been long in city pent] | John Keats | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000473 | 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 | 4 | elegy |
epf-000578 | Little Lamb who made thee
Dost thou know who made thee
Gave thee life & bid thee feed.
By the stream & o'er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing wooly bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice!
Little Lamb who made thee
Dost thou know who ma... | The Lamb | William Blake | 1 | couplet |
epf-000678 | This Sycamore, oft musical with bees,—
Such tents the Patriarchs loved! O long unharmed
May all its agèd boughs o'er-canopy
The small round basin, which this jutting stone
Keeps pure from falling leaves! Long may the Spring,
Quietly as a sleeping infant's breath,
Send up cold waters to the traveller
With soft and even ... | Inscription for a Fountain on a Heath | Samuel Taylor Coleridge | 10 | pastoral |
epf-000550 | Gay Fashion thou Goddess so pleasing,
However imperious thy sway;
Like a mistress capricious and teasing,
Thy slaves tho’ they murmur obey.
The simple, the wise, and the witty,
The learned, the dunce, and the fool,
The crooked, straight, ugly, and pretty,
Wear the badge of thy whimsical school.
Tho’ thy s... | To Fashion | Elizabeth Moody | 7 | ode |
epf-001092 | One day in the dreamy summer,
On the Sabbath hills, from afar
We heard the solemn echoes
Of the first fierce words of war.
Ah, tell me, thou veilèd Watcher
Of the storm and the calm to come,
How long by the sun or shadow
Till these noises again are dumb.
And soon in a hush and glimmer
... | Hearing the Battle.—July 21, 1861 | Sarah Morgan Bryan Piatt | 12 | quatrain |
epf-000485 | A cloud of flowers!
Is the bell Uyeno
Or Asakusa? | [A cloud of flowers!] | Matsuo Bashō | 11 | haiku |
epf-000805 | Say over again, and yet once over again,
That thou dost love me. Though the word repeated
Should seem "a cuckoo-song," as thou dost treat it,
Remember, never to the hill or plain,
Valley and wood, without her cuckoo-strain
Comes the fresh Spring in all her green completed.
Belovèd, I, amid the darkness greeted
By a dou... | Say over again... (Sonnet 21) | Elizabeth Barrett Browning | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001244 | Air a-gittin' cool an' coolah,
Frost a-comin' in de night,
Hicka' nuts an' wa'nuts fallin',
Possum keepin' out o' sight.
Tu'key struttin' in de ba'nya'd,
Nary step so proud ez his;
Keep on struttin', Mistah Tu'key,
Yo' do' know whut time it is.
Cidah press commence a-squeakin'
Eatin' apples sto'ed away,... | Signs of the Times | Paul Laurence Dunbar | 2 | common measure |
epf-000905 | It once might have been, once only:
We lodged in a street together,
You, a sparrow on the housetop lonely,
I, a lone she-bird of his feather.
Your trade was with sticks and clay,
You thumbed, thrust, patted and polished,
Then laughed "They will see some day
Smith made, and Gibson demolished."
My busines... | Youth and Art | Robert Browning | 3 | ballad |
epf-000668 | Where is the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn?
Where may the grave of that good man be?—
By the side of a spring, on the breast of Helvellyn,
Under the twigs of a young birch tree!
The oak that in summer was sweet to hear,
And rustled its leaves in the fall of the year,
And whistled and roared in the winter alone,
Is gone,... | The Knight's Tomb | Samuel Taylor Coleridge | 1 | couplet |
epf-000463 | LXVI. Upon the Disobedient Child.
Children become, while little, our delights,
When they grow bigger, they begin to fright's.
Their sinful Nature prompts them to rebel,
And to delight in Paths that lead to Hell.
Their Parents Love, and Care, they overlook,
As if Relation had them quite forsook.
They take the Counsels o... | Upon the Disobedient Child | John Bunyan | 1 | couplet |
epf-001106 | Forth from Calais, at dawn of night, when sunset summer on autumn shone,
Fared the steamer alert and loud through seas whence only the sun was gone:
Soft and sweet as the sky they smiled, and bade man welcome: a dim sweet hour
Gleamed and whispered in wind and sea, and heaven was fair as a field in flower,
Stars fulfil... | A Channel Crossing | Algernon Charles Swinburne | 1 | couplet |
epf-000894 | The wind blew high, the waters raved,
A ship drove on the land,
A hundred human creatures saved
Kneel’d down upon the sand.
Three-score were drown’d, three-score were thrown
Upon the black rocks wild,
And thus among them, left alone,
They found one helpless child.
A seaman rough, to shipwreck bred,
Stoo... | The Song of the Wreck | Charles Dickens | 3 | ballad |
epf-001311 | Is Life itself but many ways of thought,
Does thinking furl the poets’ pleiades,
Is in His slightest convolution wrought
These mantled worlds and their men-freighted seas?
He thinks—and being comes to ardent things:
The splendor of the day-spent sun, love’s birth,—
Or dreams a little, while creation swings
The circle o... | Substitution | Anne Spencer | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000918 | Would that the structure brave, the manifold music I build,
Bidding my organ obey, calling its keys to their work,
Claiming each slave of the sound, at a touch, as when Solomon willed
Armies of angels that soar, legions of demons that lurk,
Man, brute, reptile, fly,—alien of end and of aim,
Adverse, each from ... | Abt Vogler | Robert Browning | 8 | dramatic monologue |
epf-000526 | To all you ladies now at Bath,
And eke, ye beaux, to you,
With aching heart, and wat'ry eyes,
I bid my last adieu.
Farewell ye nymphs, who waters sip
Hot reeking from the pumps,
While music lends her friendly aid,
To cheer you from the dumps.
Farewell ye wits, who prating stand,
And criticise the fai... | Farewell to Bath | Lady Mary Wortley Montagu | 2 | common measure |
epf-000095 | O, from what power hast thou this powerful might
With insufficiency my heart to sway?
To make me give the lie to my true sight?
And swear that brightness doth not grace the day?
Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill,
That in the very refuse of thy deeds
There is such strength and warranties of skill
That, in my ... | O, from what power hast thou this powerful might (Sonnet 150) | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000693 | Ianthe! you are call’d to cross the sea!
A path forbidden me!
Remember, while the Sun his blessing sheds
Upon the mountain-heads,
How often we have watcht him laying down
His brow, and dropt our own
Against each other’s, and how faint and short
And sliding the support!
What will succ... | Ianthe! You are Call’d to Cross the Sea | Walter Savage Landor | 1 | couplet |
epf-000683 | [Addressed to Charles Lamb, of the India House, London]
Well, they are gone, and here must I remain,
This lime-tree bower my prison! I have lost
Beauties and feelings, such as would have been
Most sweet to my remembrance even when age
Had dimm'd mine eyes to blindness! They, meanwhile,
Friends, whom I never more may m... | This Lime-tree Bower my Prison | Samuel Taylor Coleridge | 6 | blank verse |
epf-001090 | And did young Stephen sicken,
And did young Stephen die?
And did the sad hearts thicken,
And did the mourners cry?
No; such was not the fate of
Young Stephen Dowling Bots;
Though sad hearts round him thickened,
'Twas not from sickness' shots.
No whooping-cough did rack his frame,
Nor measles drear, wit... | Ode to Stephen Dowling Bots, Dec'd. | Mark Twain | 4 | elegy |
epf-001019 | ’Tis Christmas weather, and a country house
Receives us: rooms are full: we can but get
An attic-crib. Such lovers will not fret
At that, it is half-said. The great carouse
Knocks hard upon the midnight’s hollow door,
But when I knock at hers, see the pit.
Why did I come here in that dullard fit?
I enter, and lie couch... | Modern Love: XXIII | George Meredith | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000607 | Mosquito at my ear—
does he think
I’m deaf? | [mosquito at my ear] | Kobayashi Issa | 11 | haiku |
epf-000478 | This Little, Silent, Gloomy Monument,
Contains all that was sweet and innocent ;
The softest pratler that e'er found a Tongue,
His Voice was Musick and his Words a Song ;
Which now each List'ning Angel smiling hears,
Such pretty Harmonies compose the Spheres;
Wanton as unfledg'd Cupids, ere their Charms
Has learn'd the... | Epitaph on the Tombstone of a Child, the Last of Seven that Died Before | Aphra Behn | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000875 | Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font.
The firefly wakens; waken thou with me.
Now droops the milk-white peacock like a ghost,
And like a ghost she glimmers on to me.
Now lies the Earth all Danaë to the stars,
And all t... | from The Princess: Now Sleeps the Crimson Petal | Lord Tennyson Alfred | 6 | blank verse |
epf-001374 | I shall forget you presently, my dear,
So make the most of this, your little day,
Your little month, your little half a year
Ere I forget, or die, or move away,
And we are done forever; by and by
I shall forget you, as I said, but now,
If you entreat me with your loveliest lie
I will protest you with my favorite vow.
I... | I shall forget you presently, my dear (Sonnet IV) | Edna St. Vincent Millay | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000446 | Courage, my Soul, now learn to wield
The weight of thine immortal shield.
Close on thy head thy helmet bright.
Balance thy sword against the fight.
See where an army, strong as fair,
With silken banners spreads the air.
Now, if thou be’st that thing divine,
In this day’s combat let it shine:
And show that Nature wants ... | A Dialogue, between the Resolved Soul and Created Pleasure | Andrew Marvell | 1 | couplet |
epf-000010 | Avising the bright beams of these fair eyes
Where he is that mine oft moisteth and washeth,
The wearied mind straight from the heart departeth
For to rest in his worldly paradise
And find the sweet bitter under this guise.
What webs he hath wrought well he perceiveth
Whereby with himself on love he plaineth
That spurre... | Avising the Bright Beams | Sir Thomas Wyatt | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000456 | Luxurious man, to bring his vice in use,
Did after him the world seduce,
And from the fields the flowers and plants allure,
Where nature was most plain and pure.
He first enclosed within the gardens square
A dead and standing pool of air,
And a more luscious earth for them did knead,
Which stupified them while it f... | The Mower against Gardens | Andrew Marvell | 10 | pastoral |
epf-000955 | I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing,
All alone stood it and the moss hung down from the branches,
Without any companion it grew there uttering joyous leaves of dark green,
And its look, rude, unbending, lusty, made me think of myself,
But I wonder’d how it could utter joyous leaves standing alone there without its fr... | I Saw in Louisiana A Live-Oak Growing | Walt Whitman | 5 | free verse |
epf-001258 | Tho’ lack of laurels and of wreaths not one
Prove you our lives abortive, shall we yet
Vaunt us our single aim, our hearts full set
To win the guerdon which is never won.
Witness, a purpose never is undone.
And tho’ fate drain our seas of violet
To gather round our lives her wide-hung net,
Memories of hopes that are no... | Tho’ Lack of Laurels and of Wreaths Not One | Trumbull Stickney | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000735 | (excerpt)
SCENE.—A Ravine of Icy Rocks in the Indian Caucasus. Prometheus is discovered bound to the Precipice. Panthea and Ione are seated at his feet. Time, night. During the Scene, morning slowly breaks.
Prometheus.
Monarch of Gods and Dæmons, and all Spirits
But One, who throng those bright and rolling worlds
... | Prometheus Unbound | Percy Bysshe Shelley | 6 | blank verse |
epf-000345 | Here a little child I stand
Heaving up my either hand;
Cold as paddocks though they be,
Here I lift them up to Thee,
For a benison to fall
On our meat, and on us all. Amen. | Another Grace for a Child | Robert Herrick | 1 | couplet |
epf-001441 | Is love a fancy, or a feeling? No.
It is immortal as immaculate Truth,
'Tis not a blossom shed as soon as youth,
Drops from the stem of life—for it will grow,
In barren regions, where no waters flow,
Nor rays of promise cheats the pensive gloom.
A darkling fire, faint hovering o'er a tomb,
That but itself and darkness ... | Sonnet VII | Hartley Coleridge | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000226 | They that have power to hurt and will do none
That do not do the thing they most do show,
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,
Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow;
They rightly do inherit heaven’s graces
And husband nature’s riches from expense;
They are the lords and owners of their faces,
Others but steward... | They that have power to hurt and will do none (Sonnet 94) | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000054 | Leave me, O Love, which reachest but to dust;
And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things;
Grow rich in that which never taketh rust;
Whatever fades but fading pleasure brings.
Draw in thy beams and humble all thy might
To that sweet yoke where lasting freedoms be;
Which breaks the clouds and opens forth the light,
That... | "Leave me, O Love, which reachest but to dust" | Sir Philip Sidney | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001393 | The wind was a care-free soul
That broke the chains of earth,
And strode for a moment across the land
With the wild halloo of his mirth.
He little cared that he ripped up trees,
That houses fell at his hand,
That his step broke calm on the breast of seas,
That his feet stirred clouds of sand.
But... | Wind | Gwendolyn Bennett | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000535 | (FROM THE NORSE TONGUE)
Now the storm begins to lower,
(Haste, the loom of Hell prepare.)
Iron-sleet of arrowy shower
Hurtles in the darken'd air.
Glitt'ring lances are the loom,
Where the dusky warp we strain,
Weaving many a soldier's doom,
Orkney's woe, and Randver's bane.
See the grisly texture grow,
('Tis of hum... | The Fatal Sisters: An Ode | Thomas Gray | 7 | ode |
epf-001056 | What soul would bargain for a cure that brings
Contempt the nobler agony to kill?
Rather let me bear on the bitter ill,
And strike this rusty bosom with new stings!
It seems there is another veering fit
Since on a gold-haired lady's eyeballs pure,
I looked with little prospect of a cure,
The while her mouth's red bow l... | Modern Love: XIV | George Meredith | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001128 | Towery city and branchy between towers;
Cuckoo-echoing, bell-swarmèd, lark charmèd, rook racked, river-rounded;
The dapple-eared lily below thee; that country and town did
Once encounter in, here coped & poisèd powers;
Thou hast a base and brickish skirt there, sours
That neighbour-nature thy grey beauty is grounded
Be... | Duns Scotus's Oxford | Gerard Manley Hopkins | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000370 | Ask me no more where Jove bestows,
When June is past, the fading rose;
For in your beauty's orient deep
These flowers as in their causes, sleep.
Ask me no more whither doth stray
The golden atoms of the day;
For in pure love heaven did prepare
Those powders to enrich your hair.
Ask me no more whither doth haste
The n... | A Song: When June is past, the fading rose | Thomas Carew | 1 | couplet |
epf-000639 | Who is the happy Warrior? Who is he
That every man in arms should wish to be?
—It is the generous Spirit, who, when brought
Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought
Upon the plan that pleased his boyish thought:
Whose high endeavours are an inward light
That makes the path before him always bright;
Who, with a natura... | Character of the Happy Warrior | William Wordsworth | 1 | couplet |
epf-000288 | Nature which headlong into life doth throw us,
With our feet forward to our grave doth bring us,
What is less ours, than this our borrowed breath,
We stumble into life, we go to death.
| Book 7, Epigram 47: De Hominis Ortu & Sepultura. | Thomas Bastard | 4 | elegy |
epf-001174 | The sin was mine; I did not understand.
So now is music prisoned in her cave,
Save where some ebbing desultory wave
Frets with its restless whirls this meagre strand.
And in the withered hollow of this land
Hath Summer dug herself so deep a grave,
That hardly can the leaden willow crave
... | The New Remorse | Oscar Wilde | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000967 | from Sonnets, First Series
VI
Dank fens of cedar; hemlock-branches gray
With trees and trail of mosses, wringing-wet;
Beds of the black pitchpine in dead leaves set
Whose wasted red has wasted to white away;
Remnants of rain and droppings of decay, —
Why hold ye so my heart, nor dimly let
Through your d... | “Dank fens of cedar; hemlock-branches gray” | Frederick Goddard Tuckerman | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000206 | But wherefore do not you a mightier way
Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time?
And fortify yourself in your decay
With means more blessed than my barren rhyme?
Now stand you on the top of happy hours,
And many maiden gardens yet unset
With virtuous wish would bear your living flowers,
Much liker than your painted coun... | But wherefore do not you a mightier way (Sonnet 16) | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000165 | Ah! wherefore with infection should he live,
And with his presence grace impiety,
That sin by him advantage should achieve
And lace itself with his society?
Why should false painting imitate his cheek
And steel dead seeing of his living hue?
Why should poor beauty indirectly seek
Roses of shadow, since his rose is true... | Ah! wherefore with infection should he live (Sonnet 67) | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000266 | No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change:
Thy pyramids built up with newer might
To me are nothing novel, nothing strange;
They are but dressings of a former sight.
Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire
What thou dost foist upon us that is old,
And rather make them born to our desire
Than think that we be... | Sonnet 123: No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000768 | Souls of Poets dead and gone,
What Elysium have ye known,
Happy field or mossy cavern,
Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern?
Have ye tippled drink more fine
Than mine host's Canary wine?
Or are fruits of Paradise
Sweeter than those dainty pies
Of venison? O generous food!
Drest as though bold Robin Hood
Would, with his maid... | Lines on the Mermaid Tavern | John Keats | 1 | couplet |
epf-000685 | This Sycamore, oft musical with bees,—
Such tents the Patriarchs loved! O long unharmed
May all its agèd boughs o'er-canopy
The small round basin, which this jutting stone
Keeps pure from falling leaves! Long may the Spring,
Quietly as a sleeping infant's breath,
Send up cold waters to the traveller
With soft and even ... | Inscription for a Fountain on a Heath | Samuel Taylor Coleridge | 6 | blank verse |
epf-000030 | Most happy letters, fram'd by skilful trade,
With which that happy name was first design'd:
The which three times thrice happy hath me made,
With gifts of body, fortune, and of mind.
The first my being to me gave by kind,
From mother's womb deriv'd by due descent,
The second is my sovereign Queen most kind,
That honour... | Amoretti LXXIV: Most Happy Letters | Edmund Spenser | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001281 | This afternoon was the colour of water falling through sunlight;
The trees glittered with the tumbling of leaves;
The sidewalks shone like alleys of dropped maple leaves,
And the houses ran along them laughing out of square, open windows.
Under a tree in the park,
Two little boys, lying flat on their faces,
Were carefu... | September, 1918 | Amy Lowell | 5 | free verse |
epf-000255 | They that have power to hurt and will do none,
That do not do the thing they most do show,
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,
Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow:
They rightly do inherit heaven's graces
And husband nature's riches from expense;
They are the lords and owners of their faces,
Others but stewar... | Sonnet 94: They that have power to hurt and will do none | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000819 | As a fond mother, when the day is o'er,
Leads by the hand her little child to bed,
Half willing, half reluctant to be led,
And leave his broken playthings on the floor,
Still gazing at them through the open door,
Nor wholly reassured and comforted
By promises of others in their stead,
Which, though mo... | Nature | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000867 | Wheer 'asta beän saw long and meä liggin' 'ere aloän?
Noorse? thoort nowt o' a noorse: whoy, Doctor's abeän an' agoän;
Says that I moänt 'a naw moor aäle; but I beänt a fool;
Git ma my aäle, fur I beänt a-gawin' to breäk my rule.
Doctors, they knaws nowt, fur a says what 's nawways true;
Naw soort o' koind o' use to ... | Northern Farmer: Old Style | Lord Tennyson Alfred | 8 | dramatic monologue |
epf-001199 | Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life.
This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales, and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.
At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its l... | Gitanjali 1 | Rabindranath Tagore | 9 | prose poem |
epf-001188 | Here is thy footstool and there rest thy feet where live the poorest, and lowliest, and lost.
When I try to bow to thee, my obeisance cannot reach down to the depth where thy feet rest among the poorest, and lowliest, and lost
Pride can never approach to where thou walkest in the clothes of the humble among the poore... | Gitanjali 10 | Rabindranath Tagore | 9 | prose poem |
epf-000948 | On the beach at night alone,
As the old mother sways her to and fro singing her husky song,
As I watch the bright stars shining, I think a thought of the clef of the universes and of the future.
A vast similitude interlocks all,
All spheres, grown, ungrown, small, large, suns, moons, planets,
All distances of place ho... | On the Beach at Night Alone | Walt Whitman | 5 | free verse |
epf-001413 | It was at a wine party—
I lay in a drowse, knowing it not.
The blown flowers fell and filled my lap.
When I arose, still drunken,
The birds had all gone to their nests,
And there remained but few of my comrades.
I went along the river—alone in the moonlight. | The Solitude of Night | Li Bai | 5 | free verse |
epf-000122 | Accuse me thus: that I have scanted all
Wherein I should your great deserts repay,
Forgot upon your dearest love to call,
Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day;
That I have frequent been with unknown minds
And given to time your own dear-purchased right;
That I have hoisted sail to all the winds
Which should transport... | Accuse me thus: that I have scanted all (Sonnet 117) | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000528 | Hark! the herald Angels sing,
Glory to the new-born King,
Peace on earth and mercy mild,
God and sinner reconcil’d.
Hark! the herald Angels sing,
Glory to the new-born King.
Joyful all ye nations rise,
Join the triumph of the skies,
With the angelic host proclaim,
Christ is born in Bethlehem.
Hark! the herald... | For Christmas Day: Hark! the Herald Angels Sing | Charles Wesley | 1 | couplet |
epf-000238 | The First Sestiad
(excerpt)
On Hellespont, guilty of true love's blood,
In view and opposite two cities stood,
Sea-borderers, disjoin'd by Neptune's might;
The one Abydos, the other Sestos hight.
At Sestos Hero dwelt; Hero the fair,
Whom young Apollo courted for her hair,
And offer'd as a dower his burning throne,
Wh... | Hero and Leander | Christopher Marlowe | 1 | couplet |
epf-000664 | 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 | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001060 | Thus piteously Love closed what he begat:
The union of this ever-diverse pair!
These two were rapid falcons in a snare,
Condemned to do the flitting of the bat.
Lovers beneath the singing sky of May,
They wandered once; clear as the dew on flowers:
But they fed not on the advancing hours:
Their hearts held cravings for... | Modern Love: L | George Meredith | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001265 | Bath
The day is fresh-washed and fair, and there is a smell of tulips and narcissus in the air.
The sunshine pours in at the bath-room window and bores through the water in the bath-tub in lathes and planes of greenish-white. It cleaves the water into flaws like a jewel, and cracks it to bright light.
Little spot... | Spring Day | Amy Lowell | 9 | prose poem |
epf-001085 | THE FLESH
"Sweet, thou art pale."
"More pale to see,
Christ hung upon the cruel tree
And bore His Father's wrath for me."
"Sweet, thou art sad."
"Beneath a rod
More heavy, Christ for my sake trod
The winepress of the wrath of God."
"Sweet, thou art weary."
"Not so Christ:
Whose mighty love of me suffic... | The Three Enemies | Christina Rossetti | 1 | couplet |
epf-000506 | Nolueram, Belinda, tuos violare capillos;
Sedjuvat, hoc precibus me tribuisse tuis.
(Martial, Epigrams 12.84)
What dire offence from am'rous causes springs,
What mighty contests rise from trivial things,
I sing—This verse to Caryl, Muse! is due:
This, ev'n Belinda may vouchsafe to view:
Slight is the subject, but not ... | The Rape of the Lock: Canto 1 | Alexander Pope | 1 | couplet |
epf-001017 | You like not that French novel? Tell me why.
You think it quite unnatural. Let us see.
The actors are, it seems, the usual three:
Husband, and wife, and love. She—but fie!
In England we’ll not hear of it. Edmond,
The lover, her devout chagrin doth share;
Blanc-mange and absinthe are his penitent fare,
Till his pale asp... | Modern Love: XXV | George Meredith | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001414 | I have a yong suster
Fer beyonden the se,
Many be the drowryes
That she sente me.
She sente me the cherye
Withouten ony ston;
And so she dede the dove
Withouten ony bon.
She sente me the brer
Withouten ony rinde;
She bad me love my lemman
Withoute longing.
How shuld ony cherye
Be withoute ston?
And how shuld ony dov... | "I Have a Young Sister" | Anonymous | 3 | ballad |
epf-001086 | What is pink? a rose is pink
By a fountain's brink.
What is red? a poppy's red
In its barley bed.
What is blue? the sky is blue
Where the clouds float thro'.
What is white? a swan is white
Sailing in the light.
What is yellow? pears are yellow,
Rich and ripe and mellow.
What is green? the grass is green,
With small flo... | Color | Christina Rossetti | 1 | couplet |
epf-000690 | May the Babylonish curse,
Strait confound my stammering verse,
If I can a passage see
In this word-perplexity,
Or a fit expression find,
Or a language to my mind,
(Still the phrase is wide or scant)
To take leave of thee, GREAT PLANT!
Or in any terms relate
Half my love, or half my hate:
For I hate, yet love, thee so,
... | A Farewell to Tobacco | Charles Lamb | 1 | couplet |
epf-000248 | Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye,
Kissing with golden face the meadows green,
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy;
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride
With ugly rack on his celestial face
And from the forlorn world his visage hide,
Stealing unseen to west wi... | Sonnet 33: Full many a glorious morning have I seen | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000320 | (excerpt)
OF THE PROGRESS OF THE SOUL
Wherein,
by occasion of the religious death of Mistress
Elizabeth Drury, the incommodities of the soul in this her life, and her
exaltation in the next, are contemplated
THE SECOND ANNIVERSARY
Forget this rotten world, and unto thee
Let thine own times as an old story be.
Be not ... | Of the Progress of the Soul: The Second Anniversary | John Donne | 4 | elegy |
epf-000486 | ’Tis the first snow—
Just enough to bend
The gladiolus leaves! | [’Tis the first snow—] | Matsuo Bashō | 11 | haiku |
epf-001391 | He came in silvern armour, trimmed with black—
A lover come from legends long ago—
With silver spurs and silken plumes a-blow,
And flashing sword caught fast and buckled back
In a carven sheath of Tamarack.
He came with footsteps beautifully slow,
And spoke in voice meticulously low.
He came and Romance followed in his... | Sonnet 1 | Gwendolyn Bennett | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000934 | Weaned from life and flown away
In the morning of thy day,
Bound in everlasting gloom,
Buried in a hapless tomb.
Yet upon thy bended knee
Thank the power that banished thee;
Chain and bar and dungeon wall
Saved thee from a deadlier thrall.
Thank the power that made thee part
Ere that parting broke thy heart.
Wildly r... | [Weaned from life and flown away] | Emily Brontë | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001024 | Yet it was plain she struggled, and that salt
Of righteous feeling made her pitiful.
Poor twisting worm, so queenly beautiful!
Where came the cleft between us? whose the fault?
My tears are on thee, that have rarely dropped
As balm for any bitter wound of mine:
My breast will open for thee at a sign!
But no: we are two... | Modern Love: VIII | George Meredith | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001032 | They dub thee idler, smiling sneeringly,
And why? because, forsooth, so many moons,
Here dwelling voiceless by the voiceful sea,
Thou hast not set thy thoughts to paltry tunes
In song or sonnet. Them these golden noons
Oppress not with their beauty; they could prate,
Even while a prophet read the solemn runes
On which ... | Sonnet: They Dub Thee Idler | Henry Timrod | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000433 | Wise emblem of our politic world,
Sage snail, within thine own self curl’d;
Instruct me softly to make haste,
Whilst these my feet go slowly fast.
Compendious snail! thou seem’st to me,
Large Euclid’s strict epitome;
And in each diagram dost fling
Thee from the point unto the ring;
A figure now triangular,
An ova... | The Snail | Richard Lovelace | 7 | ode |
epf-001121 | Have but one God: thy knees were sore
If bent in prayer to three or four.
Adore no images save those
The coinage of thy country shows.
Take not the Name in vain. Direct
Thy swearing unto some effect.
Thy hand from Sunday work be held—
Work not at all unless compelled.
Honor thy parents, and perchance
Their wills th... | The New Decalogue | Ambrose Bierce | 1 | couplet |
epf-001427 | translated from the Arabic by Reynold A. Nicholson
When night draws on, remembering keeps me wakeful
And hinders my rest with grief upon grief returning
For Ṣakhr. What a man was he on the day of battle,
When, snatching their chance, they swiftly exchange the spear-thrusts!
Ah, never of woe like this in the world ... | [When night draws on, remembering keeps me wakeful] | al-Khansāʾ | 4 | elegy |
epf-000952 | The world below the brine,
Forests at the bottom of the sea, the branches and leaves,
Sea-lettuce, vast lichens, strange flowers and seeds, the thick tangle, openings, and pink turf,
Different colors, pale gray and green, purple, white, and gold, the play of light through the water,
Dumb swimmers there among the rocks,... | The World Below the Brine | Walt Whitman | 5 | free verse |
epf-001115 | A Load of brushes and baskets and cradles and chairs
Labours along the street in the rain:
With it a man, a woman, a pony with whiteybrown hairs. —
The man foots in front of the horse with a shambling sway
At a slower tread than a funeral train,
While to a dirge-like tune he chants his wares,
Swingi... | No Buyers | Thomas Hardy | 10 | pastoral |
epf-000035 | PIERCE & CUDDIE
Cuddie, for shame hold up thy heavye head,
And let us cast with what delight to chace,
And weary thys long lingring Phoebus race.
Whilome thou wont the shepheards laddes to leade,
In rymes, in ridles, and in bydding base:
Now they in thee, and thou in sleepe art dead.
CUDDY
Piers, I have ... | from The Shepheardes Calender: October | Edmund Spenser | 10 | pastoral |
epf-000633 | A trouble, not of clouds, or weeping rain,
Nor of the setting sun's pathetic light
Engendered, hangs o'er Eildon's triple height:
Spirits of Power, assembled there, complain
For kindred Power departing from their sight;
While Tweed, best pleased in chanting a blithe strain,
Saddens his voice again, and yet again.
Lift ... | On the Departure of Sir Walter Scott from Abbotsford, for Naples | William Wordsworth | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000349 | A sweet disorder in the dress
Kindles in clothes a wantonness;
A lawn about the shoulders thrown
Into a fine distraction;
An erring lace, which here and there
Enthrals the crimson stomacher;
A cuff neglectful, and thereby
Ribands to flow confusedly;
A winning wave, deserving note,
In the tempestuous petticoat;
A carele... | Delight in Disorder | Robert Herrick | 1 | couplet |
epf-001275 | Cold, wet leaves
Floating on moss-coloured water
And the croaking of frogs—
Cracked bell-notes in the twilight. | The Pond | Amy Lowell | 5 | free verse |
epf-001081 | Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to c... | Remember | Christina Rossetti | 0 | sonnet |
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