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epf-000445 | 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 | 1 | couplet |
epf-000878 | The woods decay, the woods decay and fall,
The vapours weep their burthen to the ground,
Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath,
And after many a summer dies the swan.
Me only cruel immortality
Consumes: I wither slowly in thine arms,
Here at the quiet limit of the world,
A white-hair'd shadow roaming like a dr... | Tithonus | Lord Tennyson Alfred | 6 | blank verse |
epf-000575 | When my mother died I was very young,
And my father sold me while yet my tongue
Could scarcely cry " 'weep! 'weep! 'weep! 'weep!"
So your chimneys I sweep & in soot I sleep.
There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head
That curled like a lamb's back, was shaved, so I said,
"Hush, Tom! never mind it, for when your... | The Chimney Sweeper: When my mother died I was very young | William Blake | 1 | couplet |
epf-001031 | Grief dies like joy; the tears upon my cheek
Will disappear like dew. Dear God! I know
Thy kindly Providence hath made it so,
And thank thee for the law. I am too weak
To make a friend of Sorrow, or to wear,
With that dark angel ever by my side
(Though to thy heaven there be no better guide),
A front of manly calm. Yet... | Sonnet: Grief Dies | Henry Timrod | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000011 | Farewell love and all thy laws forever;
Thy baited hooks shall tangle me no more.
Senec and Plato call me from thy lore
To perfect wealth, my wit for to endeavour.
In blind error when I did persever,
Thy sharp repulse, that pricketh aye so sore,
Hath taught me to set in trifles no store
And scape forth, since liberty i... | Farewell Love and all thy Laws for ever | Sir Thomas Wyatt | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000745 | They talk of short-lived pleasure—be it so—
Pain dies as quickly: stern, hard-featured pain
Expires, and lets her weary prisoner go.
The fiercest agonies have shortest reign;
And after dreams of horror, comes again
The welcome morning with its rays of peace.
Oblivion, softly wiping out the stain,
Makes the strong secre... | Sonnet—Mutation | William Cullen Bryant | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000245 | When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,
With wha... | Sonnet 29: When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000705 | DANCE little baby, dance up high,
Never mind baby, mother is by ;
Crow and caper, caper and crow,
There little baby, there you go ;
Up to the ceiling, down to the ground,
Backwards and forwards, round and round ;
Dance little baby, and mother shall sing,
With the merry coral, ding, ding, ding. | The Baby's Dance | Ann Taylor | 1 | couplet |
epf-000216 | Look in thy glass, and tell the faces thou viewest
Now is the time that face should form another;
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose unear’d womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb
Of his... | Look in thy glass, and tell the faces thou viewest (Sonnet 3) | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001270 | Pale, with the blue of high zeniths, shimmered over with silver, brocaded
In smooth, running patterns, a soft stuff, with dark knotted fringes, it lies there,
Warm from a woman’s soft shoulders, and my fingers close on it, caressing.
Where is she, the woman who wore it? The scent of her lingers and drugs me.
A languor,... | The Blue Scarf | Amy Lowell | 5 | free verse |
epf-000310 | No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace
As I have seen in one autumnal face.
Young beauties force our love, and that's a rape,
This doth but counsel, yet you cannot scape.
If 'twere a shame to love, here 'twere no shame;
Affection here takes reverence's name.
Were her first years the gold... | Elegy IX: The Autumnal | John Donne | 1 | couplet |
epf-000773 | 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 heart's content,
Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair
Of wavy grass, and reads a debon... | To One Who Has Been Long in City Pent | John Keats | 10 | pastoral |
epf-000580 | Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?... | The Tyger | William Blake | 1 | couplet |
epf-000910 | The rain set early in to-night,
The sullen wind was soon awake,
It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
And did its worst to vex the lake:
I listened with heart fit to break.
When glided in Porphyria; straight
She shut the cold out and the storm,
And kneeled and made the cheerless grate
... | Porphyria's Lover | Robert Browning | 8 | dramatic monologue |
epf-001342 | Dear! of all happy in the hour, most blest
He who has found our hid security,
Assured in the dark tides of the world that rest,
And heard our word, ‘Who is so safe as we?’
We have found safety with all things undying,
The winds, and morning, tears of men and mirth,
The deep night, and birds singing, a... | Safety | Rupert Brooke | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001119 | For a Statue of Napoleon
A conqueror as provident as brave,
He robbed the cradle to supply the grave.
His reign laid quantities of human dust:
He fell upon the just and the unjust. | An Inscription | Ambrose Bierce | 1 | couplet |
epf-001317 | Under the level winter sky
I saw a thousand Christs go by.
They sang an idle song and free
As they went up to calvary.
Careless of eye and coarse of lip,
They marched in holiest fellowship.
That heaven might heal the world, they gave
Their earth-born dreams to deck the grave.
With souls unpurged and steadfast breath
... | Marching Men | Marjorie Pickthall | 1 | couplet |
epf-000019 | Much suspected by me,
Nothing proved can be,
Quoth Elizabeth prisoner. | Written with a Diamond on her Window at Woodstock | Queen Elizabeth I | 1 | couplet |
epf-000447 | Clora, come view my soul, and tell
Whether I have contrived it well.
Now all its several lodgings lie
Composed into one gallery;
And the great arras-hangings, made
Of various faces, by are laid;
That, for all furniture, you’ll find
Only your picture in my mind.
Here thou are painted in the dress
Of a... | The Gallery | Andrew Marvell | 1 | couplet |
epf-000672 | When Hope but made Tranquillity be felt—
A Flight of Hopes for ever on the wing
But made Tranquillity a conscious Thing—
And wheeling round and round in sportive coil
Fann'd the calm air upon the brow of Toil— | Fragment 7: When Hope but made Tranquillity be felt | Samuel Taylor Coleridge | 1 | couplet |
epf-001314 | Oh moon, who now look over the roof
of the church, in the tropical calm
to be saluted by him who has been out all night,
to be barked at by the dogs of the suburbs,
Oh moon who in your silence have laughed at
all things! In your sidereal silence
when, keeping carefully in the shadow, the
municipal judge steals from s... | Verses to the Moon | Luis Carlos López | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001382 | Great carnal mountains crouching in the cloud
That marrieth the young earth with a ring,
Yet still its thoughts builds heavenward, whence spring
Wee villages of vapor, sunset-proud.—
And to the meanest door hastes one pure-browed
White-fingered star, a little, childish thing,
The busy needle of her light to bring,
And ... | Sunset | E. E. Cummings | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001211 | When the last fight is lost, the last sword broken;
The last call sounded, the last order spoken;
When from the field where braver hearts lie sleeping,
Faint, and athirst, and blinded, I come creeping,
With not one waving shred of palm to bring you,
With not one splendid battle-song to sing you,
O Love, in my dishonor ... | Defeated | Sophie Jewett | 1 | couplet |
epf-000728 | I
O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,
Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou,
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed
The winged seeds, where they lie cold and ... | Ode to the West Wind | Percy Bysshe Shelley | 7 | ode |
epf-000279 | Momus, to be a Poet Laureate,
Has strained his wits through an iron grate.
For he has rhymes and rhymes, and double strains,
And golden verses, and all kinds of veins,
Now to the press he presses hastily,
To sell his friends stinking eternity.
For who would be eternal in such fashion,
To be a witness t... | Book 2, Epigram 21: In Momum. | Thomas Bastard | 1 | couplet |
epf-001389 | Gulls when they fly move in a liquid arc,
Still head, and wings that bend above the breast,
Covering its glitter with a cloak of dark,
Gulls fly. So as at last toward balm and rest,
Remembering wings, the desperate leave their earth,
Bear from their earth what there was ruinous-crossed,
Peace from distress, and love... | A Gull Goes Up | Léonie Adams | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000539 | Thy country, Wilberforce, with just disdain,
Hears thee, by cruel men and impious, call'd
Fanatic, for thy zeal to loose th' enthrall'd
From exile, public sale, and slav'ry's chain.
Friend of the poor, the wrong'd, the fetter-gall'd,
Fear not lest labour such as thine be vain!
Thou hast achiev'd a part; hast gain'd the... | Sonnet to William Wilberforce, Esq. | William Cowper | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000823 | A vision as of crowded city streets,
With human life in endless overflow;
Thunder of thoroughfares; trumpets that blow
To battle; clamor, in obscure retreats,
Of sailors landed from their anchored fleets;
Tolling of bells in turrets, and below
Voices of children, and bright flowers that th... | Shakespeare | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000806 | My letters! all dead paper, mute and white!
And yet they seem alive and quivering
Against my tremulous hands which loose the string
And let them drop down on my knee tonight.
This said—he wished to have me in his sight
Once, as a friend: this fixed a day in spring
To come and touch my hand. . . a simple thing,
Yes I we... | My Letters! all dead paper... (Sonnet 28) | Elizabeth Barrett Browning | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000121 | What potions have I drunk of Siren tears,
Distill’d from limbecks foul as hell within,
Applying fears to hopes and hopes to fears,
Still losing when I saw myself to win!
What wretched errors hath my heart committed,
Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never!
How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted
In t... | What potions have I drunk of Siren tears (Sonnet 119) | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000295 | At the round earth's imagin'd corners, blow
Your trumpets, angels, and arise, arise
From death, you numberless infinities
Of souls, and to your scatter'd bodies go;
All whom the flood did, and fire shall o'erthrow,
All whom war, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies,
Despair, law, chance hath slain, and you whose eyes
Shall be... | Holy Sonnets: At the round earth's imagin'd corners, blow | John Donne | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001282 | When I have baked white cakes
And grated green almonds to spread upon them;
When I have picked the green crowns from the strawberries
And piled them, cone-pointed, in a blue and yellow platter;
When I have smoothed the seam of the linen I have been working;
What then?
To-morrow it will be the same:
Cakes and strawberri... | Interlude | Amy Lowell | 5 | free verse |
epf-001152 | You better not fool with a Bumblebee!—
Ef you don't think they can sting—you'll see!
They're lazy to look at, an' kind o' go
Buzzin' an' bummin' aroun' so slow,
An' ac' so slouchy an' all fagged out,
Danglin' their legs as they drone about
The hollyhawks 'at they can't climb in
'Ithout ist a-tumble-un out ag'in!
Wunst ... | The Bumblebee | James Whitcomb Riley | 1 | couplet |
epf-001269 | When I go away from you
The world beats dead
Like a slackened drum.
I call out for you against the jutted stars
And shout into the ridges of the wind.
Streets coming fast,
One after the other,
Wedge you away from me,
And the lamps of the city prick my eyes
So that I can no longer see your face.
Why should I leave you,
... | The Taxi | Amy Lowell | 5 | free verse |
epf-001264 | 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 s... | Bath | Amy Lowell | 9 | prose poem |
epf-000059 | Clear Ancor, on whose silver-sanded shore
My soul-shrin'd saint, my fair Idea lies,
O blessed brook, whose milk-white swans adore
Thy crystal stream, refined by her eyes,
Where sweet myrrh-breathing Zephyr in the spring
Gently distils his nectar-dropping showers,
Where nightingales in Arden sit and sing
Amongst the dai... | Idea 53: Clear Ancor, on whose silver-sanded shore | Michael Drayton | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000018 | Wyatt resteth here, that quick could never rest;
Whose heavenly gifts increased by disdain,
And virtue sank the deeper in his breast;
Such profit he of envy could obtain.
A head, where wisdom mysteries did frame,
Whose hammers beat still in that lively brain
As on a stith, where some work of fame
Was daily wrought, to... | Wyatt Resteth Here | Earl of Surrey Henry Howard | 4 | elegy |
epf-001247 | Wintah, summah, snow er shine,
Hit's all de same to me,
Ef only I kin call you mine,
An' keep you by my knee.
Ha'dship, frolic, grief er caih,
Content by night an' day,
Ef only I kin see you whaih
You wait beside de way.
Livin', dyin', smiles er teahs,
My soul will still be free,
Ef only thoo de comin' yeahs
Yo... | Song (Wintah, summah, snow er shine) | Paul Laurence Dunbar | 2 | common measure |
epf-000616 | Like the stamen inside a flower
The steeple stands in lovely blue
And the day unfolds around its needle;
The flock of swallows that circles the steeple
Flies there each day through the same blue air
That carries their cries from me to you;
We know how high the sun is now
As long as the roof of th... | from In Lovely Blue | Friedrich Hölderlin | 6 | blank verse |
epf-000360 | More discontents I never had
Since I was born, than here;
Where I have been, and still am, sad,
In this dull Devonshire.
Yet justly too I must confess,
I ne'er invented such
Ennobled numbers for the press,
Than where I loath'd so much. | Discontents in Devon | Robert Herrick | 2 | common measure |
epf-001035 | It may be through some foreign grace,
And unfamiliar charm of face;
It may be that across the foam
Which bore her from her childhood’s home,
By some strange spell, my Katie brought,
Along with English creeds and thought—
Entangled in her golden hair—
Some English sunshine, warmth, and air!
I cannot tell—but here to-day... | Katie | Henry Timrod | 1 | couplet |
epf-001257 | Live blindly and upon the hour. The Lord,
Who was the Future, died full long ago.
Knowledge which is the Past is folly. Go,
Poor child, and be not to thyself abhorred.
Around thine earth sun-wingèd winds do blow
And planets roll; a meteor draws his sword;
The rainbow breaks his seven-coloured chord
And the long strips ... | Live Blindly and upon the Hour | Trumbull Stickney | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000148 | My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still,
While comments of your praise, richly compiled,
Reserve their character with golden quill
And precious phrase by all the Muses filed.
I think good thoughts whilst other write good words,
And like unletter’d clerk still cry ‘Amen’
To every hymn that able spirit affords
In ... | My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still (Sonnet 85) | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000102 | Love is my sin and thy dear virtue hate,
Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving:
O, but with mine compare thou thine own state,
And thou shalt find it merits not reproving;
Or, if it do, not from those lips of thine,
That have profaned their scarlet ornaments
And seal’d false bonds of love as oft as mine,
Robb’d oth... | Love is my sin and thy dear virtue hate (Sonnet 142) | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001438 | O golden month! How high thy gold is heaped!
The yellow birch-leaves shine like bright coins strung
On wands; the chestnut's yellow pennons tongue
To every wind its harvest challenge. Steeped
In yellow, still lie fields where wheat was reaped;
And yellow still the corn sheaves, stacked among
The yellow gourds, which fr... | September | Helen Hunt Jackson | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000834 | It was the schooner Hesperus,
That sailed the wintry sea;
And the skipper had taken his little daughtèr,
To bear him company.
Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax,
Her cheeks like the dawn of day,
And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds,
That ope in the month of May.
The skipper he stood besi... | The Wreck of the Hesperus | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | 2 | common measure |
epf-001138 | Slight as thou art, thou art enough to hide,
Like all created things, secrets from me,
And stand a barrier to eternity.
And I, how can I praise thee well and wide
From where I dwell—upon the hither side?
Thou little veil for so great mystery,
When shall I penetrate all things and thee,
And then look back? For this I m... | To a Daisy | Alice Meynell | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000192 | No more be grieved at that which thou hast done:
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud;
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
All men make faults, and even I in this,
Authorizing thy trespass with compare,
Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss,
Excusing thy sins m... | No more be grieved at that which thou hast done: (Sonnet 35) | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000213 | Lo! In the orient when the gracious light
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
Doth homage to his new-appearing sight,
Serving with looks his sacred majesty;
And having climb’d the steep-up heavenly hill,
Resembling strong youth in his middle age,
Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,
Attending on his golden pi... | Lo! In the orient when the gracious light (Sonnet 7) | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000862 | 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 | 1 | couplet |
epf-001229 | translated from the Spanish by Thomas Walsh and Salomón de la Selva.
Poets! Towers of God
Made to resist the fury of the storms
Like cliffs beside the ocean
Or clouded, savage peaks!
Masters of lightning!
Breakwaters of eternity!
Hope, magic-voiced, foretells the day
When on the rock of harmony
The Siren traitorous s... | Poets! Towers of God! | Rubén Darío | 14 | ars poetica |
epf-000371 | Now that the winter's gone, the earth hath lost
Her snow-white robes, and now no more the frost
Candies the grass, or casts an icy cream
Upon the silver lake or crystal stream;
But the warm sun thaws the benumbed earth,
And makes it tender; gives a sacred birth
To the dead swallow; wakes in hollow tree
The drowsy cucko... | The Spring | Thomas Carew | 1 | couplet |
epf-001153 | Sing me a song of a lad that is gone,
Say, could that lad be I?
Merry of soul he sailed on a day
Over the sea to Skye.
Mull was astern, Rum on the port,
Eigg on the starboard bow;
Glory of youth glowed in his soul;
Where is that glory now?
Sing me a song of a lad that is gone,
Say, could that lad be I?... | Sing me a Song of a Lad that is Gone | Robert Louis Stevenson | 3 | ballad |
epf-000808 | I thought once how Theocritus had sung
Of the sweet years, the dear and wished for years,
Who each one in a gracious hand appears
To bear a gift for mortals, old or young:
And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,
I saw, in gradual vision through my tears,
The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,
Those of my own lif... | Sonnets from the Portuguese 1: I thought once how Theocritus had sung | Elizabeth Barrett Browning | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001053 | Like labour-laden moonclouds faint to flee
From winds that sweep the winter-bitten wold,—
Like multiform circumfluence manifold
Of night's flood-tide,—like terrors that agree
Of hoarse-tongued fire and inarticulate sea,—
Even such, within some glass dimm'd by our breath,
Our hearts discern wild imag... | The House of Life: 41. Through Death to Love | Dante Gabriel Rossetti | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000093 | In loving thee thou know’st I am forsworn,
But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swearing.
In act thy bed-vow broke and new faith torn
In vowing new hate after new love bearing.
But why of two oaths’ breach do I accuse thee,
Why I break twenty? I am perjured most;
For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee
And all ... | In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn (Sonnet 152) | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001160 | If, when I die, I must be buried, let
No cemetery engulph me — no lone grot,
Where the great palpitating world comes not,
Save when, with heart bowed down and eyelids wet,
It pays its last sad melancholy debt
To some outjourneying pilgrim. May my lot
Be rather to lie in some much-used spot,
Where human life, with all i... | My Grave | Ella Wheeler Wilcox | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000388 | To the Lord General Cromwell, May 1652,
On the proposals of certain ministers at the Committee for
Propagation of the Gospel
Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud
Not of war only, but detractions rude,
Guided by faith and matchless fortitude,
To peace and truth thy glorious way h... | Sonnet 16: Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud | John Milton | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001061 | Pitch here the tent, while the old horse grazes:
By the old hedge-side we'll halt a stage.
It's nigh my last above the daisies:
My next leaf'll be man's blank page.
Yes, my old girl! and it's no use crying:
Juggler, constable, king, must bow.
One that outjuggles all's been spying
Long to have me, and he... | Juggling Jerry | George Meredith | 8 | dramatic monologue |
epf-001156 | As from the house your mother sees
You playing round the garden trees,
So you may see, if you will look
Through the windows of this book,
Another child, far, far away,
And in another garden, play.
But do not think you can at all,
By knocking on the window, call
That child to hear you. He intent
Is all on his play-busin... | To Any Reader | Robert Louis Stevenson | 1 | couplet |
epf-000876 | Our enemies have fall'n, have fall'n: the seed,
The little seed they laugh'd at in the dark,
Has risen and cleft the soil, and grown a bulk
Of spanless girth, that lays on every side
A thousand arms and rushes to the Sun.
Our enemies have fall'n, have fall'n: they came;
The leaves were wet with women's tears:... | from The Princess: Our Enemies Have Fall'n | Lord Tennyson Alfred | 6 | blank verse |
epf-001410 | I am sweetly perplexed by love sallies, releases,
By the countless retreats and the numberless captures,
By the petulant coldness and agreeable raptures,
By the whisper of phrases that hurts and then pleases,
I am drunk by the prodigal total of leases
From her body and spirit, her soul and her senses,
I revel in approa... | Pagan Passion | Luis G. Dato | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001078 | I heard a Fly buzz - when I died -
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air -
Between the Heaves of Storm -
The Eyes around - had wrung them dry -
And Breaths were gathering firm
For that last Onset - when the King
Be witnessed - in the Room -
I willed my Keepsakes - Signed away
What portion of me ... | I heard a Fly buzz - when I died - (591) | Emily Dickinson | 2 | common measure |
epf-001048 | Eat thou and drink; to-morrow thou shalt die.
Surely the earth, that's wise being very old,
Needs not our help. Then loose me, love, and hold
Thy sultry hair up from my face; that I
May pour for thee this golden wine, brim-high,
Till round the glass thy fingers glow like gold.
We'll drown all hours:... | The House of Life: 71. The Choice, I | Dante Gabriel Rossetti | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000023 | “And if I did, what then?
Are you aggriev’d therefore?
The sea hath fish for every man,
And what would you have more?”
Thus did my mistress once,
Amaze my mind with doubt;
And popp’d a question for the nonce
To beat my brains about.
Whereto I thus replied:
“Each fisherman can wish
That all the seas at every tid... | And If I Did, What Then? | George Gascoigne | 3 | ballad |
epf-001318 | See, the grass is full of stars,
Fallen in their brightness;
Hearts they have of shining gold,
Rays of shining whiteness.
Buttercups have honeyed hearts,
Bees they love the clover,
But I love the daisies' dance
All the meadow over.
Blow, O blow, you happy winds,
Singing summer's praises,
Up the field and down the fie... | Daisy Time | Marjorie Pickthall | 2 | common measure |
epf-000713 | So, we'll go no more a roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be still as bright.
For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul wears out the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
And love itself have rest.
Though the night was made for loving,
And the... | So We'll Go No More a Roving | Lord Byron (George Gordon) | 3 | ballad |
epf-000383 | On the Late Massacre in Piedmont
Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughter'd saints, whose bones
Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold,
Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old,
When all our fathers worshipp'd stocks and stones;
Forget not: in thy book record their groans
Who were thy sheep and... | Sonnet 18: Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughter'd saints, whose bones | John Milton | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000691 | I saw where in the shroud did lurk
A curious frame of Nature's work.
A flow'ret crushed in the bud,
A nameless piece of Babyhood,
Was in a cradle-coffin lying;
Extinct, with scarce the sense of dying;
So soon to exchange the imprisoning womb
For darker closets of the tomb!
She did but ope an eye, and put
A clear beam f... | On an Infant Dying as Soon as Born | Charles Lamb | 1 | couplet |
epf-000394 | What needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones,
The labor of an age in pilèd stones,
Or that his hallowed relics should be hid
Under a star-ypointing pyramid?
Dear son of Memory, great heir of fame,
What need’st thou such weak witness of thy name?
Thou in our wonder and astonishment
Hast built thyself a live-long ... | On Shakespeare. 1630 | John Milton | 4 | elegy |
epf-001023 | He felt the wild beast in him between whiles
So masterfully rude, that he would grieve
To see the helpless delicate thing receive
His guardianship through certain dark defiles.
Had he not teeth to rend, and hunger too?
But still be spared her. Once: ‘Have you no fear?’
He said: ’t was dusk; she in his grasp; none near.... | Modern Love: IX | George Meredith | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000435 | Tell me not (Sweet) I am unkind,
That from the nunnery
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind
To war and arms I fly.
True, a new mistress now I chase,
The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.
Yet this inconstancy is such
As you... | To Lucasta, Going to the Wars | Richard Lovelace | 2 | common measure |
epf-000707 | WELL, what's the matter ? there's a face
What ! has it cut a vein ?
And is it quite a shocking place ?
Come, let us look again.
I see it bleeds, but never mind
That tiny little drop ;
I don't believe you'll ever find
That crying makes it stop.
'Tis sad indeed to cry at pain,
For any but a baby ;
If tha... | The Cut | Ann Taylor | 2 | common measure |
epf-000344 | Old Parson Beanes hunts six days of the week,
And on the seventh, he has his notes to seek.
Six days he hollows so much breath away
That on the seventh he can nor preach or pray. | Upon Parson Beanes | Robert Herrick | 1 | couplet |
epf-001307 | Gold-brown upon the sated flood
The rock-vine clusters lift and sway:
Vast wings above the lambent waters brood
Of sullen day.
A waste of waters ruthlessly
Sways and uplifts its weedy mane,
Where brooding day stares down upon the sea
In dull disdain.
Uplift and sway, O golden vine,
Thy clustered fruits to love's full... | Flood | James Joyce | 7 | ode |
epf-000101 | Lo! as a careful housewife run to catch
One of her feather’d creatures broke away,
Sets down her babe and makes all swift dispatch
In pursuit of the thing she would have stay,
Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase,
Cried to catch her whose busy care is bent
To follow that which flies before her face,
Not prizin... | Lo! as a careful housewife run to catch (Sonnet 143) | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001161 | There is something in the sound of drum and fife
That stirs all the savage instincts into life.
In the old times of peace we went our ways,
Through proper days
Of little joys and tasks. Lonely at times,
When from the steeple sounded wedding chimes,
Telling to all the world some maid was wife—
But taking patie... | War Mothers | Ella Wheeler Wilcox | 1 | couplet |
epf-000110 | So, now I have confess’d that he is thine,
And I myself am mortgaged to thy will,
Myself I’ll forfeit, so that other mine
Thou wilt restore, to be my comfort still:
But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free,
For thou art covetous and he is kind;
He learn’d but surety-like to write for me
Under that bond that him as fa... | So, now I have confess'd that he is thine (Sonnet 134) | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000816 | If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange
And be all to me? Shall I never miss
Home-talk and blessing and the common kiss
That comes to each in turn, nor count it strange,
When I look up, to drop on a new range
Of walls and floors ... another home than this?
Nay, wilt thou fill that place by me which is
Filled by dea... | Sonnets from the Portuguese 35: If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange | Elizabeth Barrett Browning | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000686 | A Well there is in the west country,
And a clearer one never was seen;
There is not a wife in the west country
But has heard of the Well of St. Keyne.
An oak and an elm-tree stand beside,
And behind doth an ash-tree grow,
And a willow from the bank above
Droops to the water below.
A traveller came to th... | The Well of St. Keyne | Robert Southey | 12 | quatrain |
epf-000290 | Here take my picture; though I bid farewell
Thine, in my heart, where my soul dwells, shall dwell.
’Tis like me now, but I dead, ’twill be more
When we are shadows both, than 'twas before.
When weather-beaten I come back, my hand
Perhaps with rude oars torn, or sun beams tann’d,
My face and breast of haircloth, and my ... | Elegy V: His Picture | John Donne | 4 | elegy |
epf-001240 | Slow moves the pageant of a climbing race;
Their footsteps drag far, far below the height,
And, unprevailing by their utmost might,
Seem faltering downward from each hard won place.
No strange, swift-sprung exception we; we trace
A devious way thro’ dim, uncertain light,—
Our hope, through the long vistaed ... | Slow through the Dark | Paul Laurence Dunbar | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001375 | Mindful of you the sodden earth in spring,
And all the flowers that in the springtime grow,
And dusty roads, and thistles, and the slow
Rising of the round moon, all throats that sing
The summer through, and each departing wing,
And all the nests that the bared branches show,
And all winds that in any w... | Sonnet III: “Mindful of you the sodden earth in spring” | Edna St. Vincent Millay | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000774 | A Poetic Romance
(excerpt)
BOOK I
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to t... | from Endymion | John Keats | 10 | pastoral |
epf-000787 | That you are fair or wise is vain,
Or strong, or rich, or generous;
You must have also the untaught strain
That sheds beauty on the rose.
There is a melody born of melody,
Which melts the world into a sea:
Toil could never compass it;
Art its height could never hit;
It came never out of wit;
But a music music-born
Well... | Fate | Ralph Waldo Emerson | 1 | couplet |
epf-000906 | FERRARA
That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if she were alive. I call
That piece a wonder, now; Fra Pandolf’s hands
Worked busily a day, and there she stands.
Will’t please you sit and look at her? I said
“Fra Pandolf” by design, for never read
Strangers like you that pictured countenance,
The depth... | My Last Duchess | Robert Browning | 1 | couplet |
epf-000450 | 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 | 1 | couplet |
epf-000974 | Foil'd by our fellow-men, depress'd, outworn,
We leave the brutal world to take its way,
And, Patience! in another life, we say
The world shall be thrust down, and we up-borne.
And will not, then, the immortal armies scorn
The world's poor, routed leavings? or will they,
Who fail'd under the heat of this life's day,
S... | Immortality | Matthew Arnold | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000083 | Ulysses speaks to Achilles in the Grecian camp
Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back,
Wherein he puts alms for oblivion,
A great-sized monster of ingratitudes:
Those scraps are good deeds past; which are devour'd
As fast as they are made, forgot as soon
As done: perseverance, dear my lord,
Keeps honour bright: to h... | Troilus and Cressida, Act III, Scene III [Time hath, my lord] | William Shakespeare | 8 | dramatic monologue |
epf-000797 | ’Tis merry to hear, at evening time,
By the blazing hearth the sleigh-bells chime;
To know the bounding steeds bring near
The loved one to our bosoms dear.
Ah, lightly we spring the fire to raise,
Till the rafters glow with the ruddy blaze;
Those merry sleigh-bells, our hearts keep time
Responsive to their fairy chime.... | The Sleigh-Bells | Susanna Moodie | 1 | couplet |
epf-000301 | Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay?
Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste,
I run to death, and death meets me as fast,
And all my pleasures are like yesterday;
I dare not move my dim eyes any way,
Despair behind, and death before doth cast
Such terror, and my feebled flesh doth waste
By sin in it, which i... | Holy Sonnets: Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay? | John Donne | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000602 | Whose was that gentle voice, that, whispering sweet,
Promised methought long days of bliss sincere!
Soothing it stole on my deluded ear,
Most like soft music, that might sometimes cheat
Thoughts dark and drooping! ’Twas the voice of Hope.
Of love and social scenes, it seemed to speak,
Of truth, ... | Bereavement | William Lisle Bowles | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000017 | I abide and abide and better abide,
And after the old proverb, the happy day;
And ever my lady to me doth say,
"Let me alone and I will provide."
I abide and abide and tarry the tide,
And with abiding speed well ye may.
Thus do I abide I wot alway,
Nother obtaining nor yet denied.
Ay me! this long abiding
Seemeth to me... | I Abide and Abide and Better Abide | Sir Thomas Wyatt | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001300 | Written in A Moment of Exasperation
How can you lie so still? All day I watch
And never a blade of all the green sod moves
To show where restlessly you toss and turn,
And fling a desperate arm or draw up knees
Stiffened and aching from their long disuse;
I watch all night and not one ghost comes forth
To take its free... | To The Dead in the Graveyard Underneath My Window | Adelaide Crapsey | 6 | blank verse |
epf-000881 | The wind, that beats the mountain, blows
More softly round the open wold,
And gently comes the world to those
That are cast in gentle mould.
And me this knowledge bolder made,
Or else I had not dare to flow
In these words toward you, and invade
Even with a verse your holy woe.
'Tis strange that those we l... | To J. S. | Lord Tennyson Alfred | 2 | common measure |
epf-000642 | (At Inversneyde, upon Loch Lomond)
Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower
Of beauty is thy earthly dower!
Twice seven consenting years have shed
Their utmost bounty on thy head:
And these grey rocks; that household lawn;
Those trees, a veil just half withdrawn;
This fall of water that doth make
A murmur near the silent la... | To a Highland Girl | William Wordsworth | 1 | couplet |
epf-000825 | It was the schooner Hesperus,
That sailed the wintry sea;
And the skipper had taken his little daughtèr,
To bear him company.
Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax,
Her cheeks like the dawn of day,
And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds,
That ope in the month of May.
The skipper he stood besi... | The Wreck of the Hesperus | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | 3 | ballad |
epf-000563 | Mute is thy wild harp, now, O Bard sublime!
Who, amid Scotia’s mountain solitude,
Great Nature taught to “build the lofty rhyme,”
And even beneath the daily pressure, rude,
Of laboring Poverty, thy generous blood,
Fired with the love of freedom—Not subdued
Wert thou by thy low fortune: But a time
Like this ... | To the Shade of Burns | Charlotte Smith | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000247 | If thou survive my well-contented day,
When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover,
And shalt by fortune once more re-survey
These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover,
Compare them with the bettering of the time,
And though they be outstripp'd by every pen,
Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme,
Exce... | Sonnet 32: If thou survive my well-contented day | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001192 | When the heart is hard and parched up, come upon me with a shower of mercy.
When grace is lost from life, come with a burst of song.
When tumultuous work raises its din on all sides shutting me out from beyond, come to me, my lord of silence, with thy peace and rest.
When my beggarly heart sits crouched, shut up in a c... | Gitanjali 39 | Rabindranath Tagore | 9 | prose poem |
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