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epf-000674 | I
Ye Clouds! that far above me float and pause,
Whose pathless march no mortal may control!
Ye Ocean-Waves! that, wheresoe'er ye roll,
Yield homage only to eternal laws!
Ye Woods! that listen to the night-birds singing,
Midway the smooth and perilous slope reclined.
Save when your own imperious branches swing... | France: An Ode | Samuel Taylor Coleridge | 7 | ode |
epf-001100 | Kneel down, fair Love, and fill thyself with tears,
Girdle thyself with sighing for a girth
Upon the sides of mirth,
Cover thy lips and eyelids, let thine ears
Be filled with rumour of people sorrowing;
Make thee soft raiment out of woven sighs
Upon the flesh to cleave,
Set pains therein and many a grievous thing,
And ... | A Ballad of Death | Algernon Charles Swinburne | 3 | ballad |
epf-001187 | Leave this chanting and singing and telling of beads! Whom dost thou worship in this lonely dark corner of a temple with doors all shut? Open thine eyes and see thy God is not before thee!
He is there where the tiller is tilling the hard ground and where the path-maker is breaking stones. He is with them in sun and in... | Gitanjali 11 | Rabindranath Tagore | 9 | prose poem |
epf-000025 | “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 | 2 | common measure |
epf-000215 | Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Upon thyself thy beauty’s legacy?
Nature’s bequest gives nothing but doth lend,
And being frank she lends to those are free.
Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse
The bounteous largess given thee to give?
Profitless usurer, why dost thou use
So great a sum of sums, yet c... | Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend (Sonnet 4) | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000265 | From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty’s rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory;
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed’st thy light’s flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thyself thy fo... | Sonnet 1: From fairest creatures we desire increase | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000205 | Who will believe my verse in time to come,
If it were fill’d with your most high deserts?
Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life and shows not half your parts.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes
And in fresh numbers number all your graces
The age to come would say ‘This poet lies;
Suc... | Who will believe my verse in time to come (Sonnet 17) | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000222 | Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,
As to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
And gilded honour shamefully misplac'd,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgrac'd,
And strength by limping sway disabled
And a... | Tired with all these, for restful death I cry (Sonnet 66) | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000214 | Those hours, that with gentle work did frame
The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell,
Will play the tyrants to the very same
And that unfair which fairly doth excel;
For never-resting time leads summer on
To hideous winter and confounds him there;
Sap check’d with frost and lusty leaves quite gone,
Beauty o’ersnow’d... | Those hours, that with gentle work did frame (Sonnet 5) | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000369 | Can we not force from widow'd poetry,
Now thou art dead (great Donne) one elegy
To crown thy hearse? Why yet dare we not trust,
Though with unkneaded dough-bak'd prose, thy dust,
Such as th' unscissor'd churchman from the flower
Of fading rhetoric, short-liv'd as his hour,
Dry as the sand that measures it, should lay
U... | An Elegy upon the Death of the Dean of Paul's, Dr. John Donne | Thomas Carew | 1 | couplet |
epf-000157 | Why is my verse so barren of new pride,
So far from variation or quick change?
Why with the time do I not glance aside
To new-found methods and to compounds strange?
Why write I still all one, ever the same,
And keep invention in a noted weed,
That every word doth almost tell my name,
Showing their birth and where they... | Why is my verse so barren of new pride (Sonnet 76) | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000966 | You have to be always drunk. That's all there is to it—it's the only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually drunk.
But on what? Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be drunk.
And if sometimes, on the steps of a palace or the ... | Be Drunk | Charles Baudelaire | 9 | prose poem |
epf-001295 | Time sitting on the throne of Memory
Bade all her subject Days, the past had known
Arise and say what thing gave them renown
Unforgetable, ‘Rising from the sea,
I gave the Genoese his dream to be;’
‘I saw the Corsican’s Guards swept down;’
‘Colonies I made free from a tyrant’s crown;’—
So each Day told its immortality.... | October XXIX, 1795 | William Stanley Braithwaite | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001260 | I used to think
The mind essential in the body, even
As stood the body essential in the mind:
Two inseparable things, by nature equal
And similar, and in creation’s song
Halving the total scale: it is not so.
Unlike and cross like driftwood sticks they come
Churned in the giddy trough: a chunk of pine,
A slab of rosewo... | I Used to Think | Trumbull Stickney | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001207 | I am only waiting for love to give myself up at last into his hands. That is why it is so late and why I have been guilty of such omissions.
They come with their laws and their codes to bind me fast; but I evade them ever, for I am only waiting for love to give myself up at last into his hands.
People blame me and ca... | Gitanjali 17 | Rabindranath Tagore | 9 | prose poem |
epf-001104 | One, who is not, we see: but one, whom we see not, is:
Surely this is not that: but that is assuredly this.
What, and wherefore, and whence? for under is over and under:
If thunder could be without lightning, lightning could be without thunder.
Doubt is faith in the main: but faith, on the whole, is doubt:
We cannot ... | The Higher Pantheism in a Nutshell | Algernon Charles Swinburne | 1 | couplet |
epf-001206 | Clouds heap upon clouds and it darkens. Ah, love, why dost thou let me wait outside at the door all alone?
In the busy moments of the noontide work I am with the crowd, but on this dark lonely day it is only for thee that I hope.
If thou showest me not thy face, if thou leavest me wholly aside, I know not how I am to... | Gitanjali 18 | Rabindranath Tagore | 9 | prose poem |
epf-000491 | Fair tree! for thy delightful shade
'Tis just that some return be made;
Sure some return is due from me
To thy cool shadows, and to thee.
When thou to birds dost shelter give,
Thou music dost from them receive;
If travellers beneath thee stay
Till storms have worn themselves away,
That time in praising thee they spend
... | The Tree | Countess of Winchilsea Anne Finch | 1 | couplet |
epf-001087 | ’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”
He took his vorpal sword in han... | Jabberwocky | Lewis Carroll | 3 | ballad |
epf-000088 | I come no more to make you laugh: things now,
That bear a weighty and a serious brow,
Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe,
Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow,
We now present. Those that can pity, here
May, if they think it well, let fall a tear;
The subject will deserve it. Such as give
Their money out... | Henry VIII, Prologue [I come no more to make you laugh] | William Shakespeare | 8 | dramatic monologue |
epf-000234 | When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long since cancelled woe,
An... | When to the sessions of sweet silent thought (Sonnet 30) | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000193 | Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day
And make me travel forth without my cloak,
To let base clouds o’ertake me in my way,
Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke?
’Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break,
To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face,
For no man well of such a salve can speak
That heals the ... | Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day (Sonnet 34) | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000771 | My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness,—
That thou, light-winged... | Ode to a Nightingale | John Keats | 7 | ode |
epf-000889 | We deemed the secret lost, the spirit gone,
Which spake in Greek simplicity of thought,
And in the forms of gods and heroes wrought
Eternal beauty from the sculptured stone,—
A higher charm than modern culture won
With all the wealth of metaphysic lore,
Gifted to analyze, dissect, explore.
A many-colored light flows fr... | Flaxman | Margaret Fuller | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001147 | Thou two-faced year, Mother of Change and Fate,
Didst weep when Spain cast forth with flaming sword,
The children of the prophets of the Lord,
Prince, priest, and people, spurned by zealot hate.
Hounded from sea to sea, from state to state,
The West refused them, and the East abhorred.
No anchorage the known world coul... | 1492 | Emma Lazarus | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000465 | On her Son H.P. at St. Syth’s Church where her body also lies interred
What on Earth deserves our trust?
Youth and Beauty both are dust.
Long we gathering are with pain,
What one moment calls again.
Seven years childless marriage past,
A Son, a son is born at last:
So exactly lim’d and fair,
Full of good Spirits, Meen... | Epitaph | Katherine Philips | 1 | couplet |
epf-000593 | Chorus
Ca' the yowes to the knowes,
Ca' them where the heather grows
Ca' them where the burnie rows,
My bonie dearie.
Hark! the mavis' evening sang
Sounding Cluden's woods amang,
Then a-fauldin let us gang,
My bonie dearie.
We'll gae down by Cluden side,
Thro' the hazels spreading wide,
O'er the waves tha... | Ca' the Yowes to the Knowes | Robert Burns | 3 | ballad |
epf-000475 | from An Evening's Love
You charm'd me not with that fair face
Though it was all divine:
To be another's is the grace,
That makes me wish you mine.
The Gods and Fortune take their part
Who like young monarchs fight;
And boldly dare invade that heart
Which is another's right.
First mad wi... | Song: “You charm'd me not with that fair face” | John Dryden | 2 | common measure |
epf-000476 | from An Evening's Love
Calm was the even, and clear was the sky,
And the new budding flowers did spring,
When all alone went Amyntas and I
To hear the sweet nightingale sing;
I sate, and he laid him down by me;
But scarcely his breath he could draw;
For when with a fear, he began to draw near,
... | Song: Calm was the even, and clear was the sky | John Dryden | 2 | common measure |
epf-001195 | I ask for a moment’s indulgence to sit by thy side. The works that I have in hand I will finish afterwards.
Away from the sight of thy face my heart knows no rest nor respite, and my work becomes an endless toil in a shoreless sea of toil.
To-day the summer has come at my window with its sighs and murmurs; and the be... | Gitanjali 5 | Rabindranath Tagore | 9 | prose poem |
epf-000603 | Evening! as slow thy placid shades descend,
Veiling with gentlest hush the landscape still,
The lonely battlement, the farthest hill
And wood, I think of those who have no friend;
Who now, perhaps, by melancholy led,
From the broad blaze of day, where pleasure flaunts,
Retiring, wander to the ri... | Evening | William Lisle Bowles | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000021 | Ah, silly Pug, wert thou so sore afraid?
Mourn not, my Wat, nor be thou so dismayed.
It passeth fickle Fortune’s power and skill
To force my heart to think thee any ill.
No Fortune base, thou sayest, shall alter thee?
And may so blind a witch so conquer me?
No, no, my Pug, though Fortune were not blind,
Assure thyself ... | Ah, Silly Pug, wert thou so Sore Afraid | Queen Elizabeth I | 1 | couplet |
epf-000576 | Twas on a Holy Thursday their innocent faces clean
The children walking two & two in red & blue & green
Grey-headed beadles walkd before with wands as white as snow,
Till into the high dome of Pauls they like Thames waters flow
O what a multitude they seemd these flowers of London town
Seated in companies they sit... | Holy Thursday: 'Twas on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean | William Blake | 1 | couplet |
epf-001095 | Blow back the breath of the bird,
Scatter the song through the air,
There was music you never heard,
And cannot hear anywhere.
It was not the sob of the vain
In the old, old dark so sweet,
(I shall never hear it again,)
Nor the coming of fairy feet.
It was music and music alone,
Not a... | The Old Slave-Music | Sarah Morgan Bryan Piatt | 12 | quatrain |
epf-000492 | Now hardly here and there a hackney-coach
Appearing, show'd the ruddy morn's approach.
Now Betty from her master's bed had flown,
And softly stole to discompose her own.
The slip-shod 'prentice from his master's door
Had par'd the dirt, and sprinkled round the floor.
Now Moll had whirl'd her mop with dext'rous airs,
Pr... | A Description of the Morning | Jonathan Swift | 1 | couplet |
epf-000481 | translated from the Japanese by William George Aston
The cry of the cicada
Gives us no sign
That presently it will die. | [The cry of the cicada] | Matsuo Bashō | 11 | haiku |
epf-000560 | written in the churchyard at Middleton in Sussex
Press’d by the Moon, mute arbitress of tides,
While the loud equinox its pow’r combines,
The sea no more its swelling surge confines,
But o’er the shrinking land sublimely rides.
The wild blasts, rising from the Western cave,
Drives the huge billows from the... | Sonnet XLIV | Charlotte Smith | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001175 | These are the letters which Endymion wrote
To one he loved in secret, and apart.
And now the brawlers of the auction mart
Bargain and bid for each poor blotted note,
Ay! for each separate pulse of passion quote
The merchant’s price. I think they love not art
Who break the crystal of a poet’s heart
That ... | On the Sale By Auction of Keats' Love Letters | Oscar Wilde | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000071 | Cassius speaks to Brutus
I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus,
As well as I do know your outward favor.
Well, honor is the subject of my story.
I cannot tell what you and other men
Think of this life; but, for my single self,
I had as lief not be as live to be
In awe of such a thing as I myself.
I was born free as ... | Julius Caesar, Act I, Scene II [I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus] | William Shakespeare | 8 | dramatic monologue |
epf-000803 | The face of all the world is changed, I think,
Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul
Move still, oh, still, beside me, as they stole
Betwixt me and the dreadful outer brink
Of obvious death, where I, who thought to sink,
Was caught up into love, and taught the whole
Of life in a new rhythm. The cup of dole
God ... | The Face of All the World (Sonnet 7) | Elizabeth Barrett Browning | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000423 | 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 | 1 | couplet |
epf-001448 | I
'The wind doth blow today, my love,
And a few small drops of rain;
I never had but one true-love;
In cold grave she was lain.
II
'I'll do as much for my true-love
As any young man may;
I'll sit and mourn all at her grave
For a twelvemonth and a day.'
III
The twelvemonth and a day being up,
The dead beg... | The Unquiet Grave | Anonymous | 3 | ballad |
epf-000877 | Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
Tears from the depth of some divine despair
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,
In looking on the happy Autumn-fields,
And thinking of the days that are no more.
Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,
That brings our friends up from the underworld,
S... | from The Princess: Tears, Idle Tears | Lord Tennyson Alfred | 6 | blank verse |
epf-000056 | Muses that sing love's sensual empery,
And lovers kindling your enraged fires
At Cupid's bonfires burning in the eye,
Blown with the empty breath of vain desires;
You that prefer the painted cabinet
Before the wealthy jewels it doth store ye,
That all your joys in dying figures set,
And stain the living substance of yo... | A Coronet for his Mistress, Philosophy | George Chapman | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001369 | Gazing upon him now, severe and dead,
It seemed a curious thing that she had lain
Beside him many a night in that cold bed,
And that had been which would not be again.
From his desirous body the great heat
Was gone at last, it seemed, and the taut nerves
Loosened forever. Formally the sheet
Set forth for her to-day tho... | Sonnet from an Ungrafted Tree, XVII | Edna St. Vincent Millay | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001005 | Along the garden terrace, under which
A purple valley (lighted at its edge
By smoky torch-flame on the long cloud-ledge
Whereunder dropped the chariot), glimmers rich,
A quiet company we pace, and wait
The dinner-bell in prae-digestive calm.
So sweet up violet banks the Southern balm
Breathes round, we care not if the ... | Modern Love: XXXVII | George Meredith | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000995 | It was biting cold, and the falling snow,
Which filled a poor little match girl’s heart with woe,
Who was bareheaded and barefooted, as she went along the street,
Crying, “Who’ll buy my matches? for I want pennies to buy some meat!”
When she left home she had slippers on;
But, alas! poor child, now they were gone.
For... | The Little Match Girl | Knight of the White Elephant of Burmah William McGonagall | 1 | couplet |
epf-000418 | Know you fair, on what you look;
Divinest love lies in this book,
Expecting fire from your eyes,
To kindle this his sacrifice.
When your hands untie these strings,
Think you’have an angel by th’ wings.
One that gladly will be nigh,
To wait upon each morning sigh.
To flutter in the balmy air
Of your well-perfumed prayer... | On Mr. G. Herbert's Book | Richard Crashaw | 1 | couplet |
epf-000986 | A Story of Holland
The good dame looked from her cottage
At the close of the pleasant day,
And cheerily called to her little son
Outside the door at play:
“Come, Peter, come! I want you to go,
While there is light to see,
To the hut of the blind old man who lives
Across the dike, for me;
And ta... | A Leak in the Dike | Phoebe Cary | 3 | ballad |
epf-001334 | At evening, sitting on this terrace,
When the sun from the west, beyond Pisa, beyond the mountains of Carrara
Departs, and the world is taken by surprise ...
When the tired flower of Florence is in gloom beneath the glowing
Brown hills surrounding ...
When under the arches of the Ponte Vecchio
A green light enters ag... | Bat | D. H. Lawrence | 5 | free verse |
epf-000457 | Hark how the Mower Damon sung,
With love of Juliana stung!
While everything did seem to paint
The scene more fit for his complaint.
Like her fair eyes the day was fair,
But scorching like his am’rous care.
Sharp like his scythe his sorrow was,
And withered like his hopes the grass.
‘Oh what unusual heats are here,
Whi... | Damon the Mower | Andrew Marvell | 10 | pastoral |
epf-000610 | All the time I pray to Buddha
I keep on
killing mosquitoes. | [all the time I pray to Buddha] | Kobayashi Issa | 11 | haiku |
epf-000137 | The forward violet thus did I chide:
Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells,
If not from my love’s breath? The purple pride
Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells
In my love’s veins thou hast too grossly dyed.
The lily I condemned for thy hand,
And buds of marjoram had stol’n thy hair:
The ro... | The forward violet thus did I chide: (Sonnet 99) | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000184 | When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see,
For all the day they view things unrespected;
But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee,
And darkly bright are bright in dark directed.
Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright,
How would thy shadow’s form form happy show
To the clear day with thy much clearer l... | When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see (Sonnet 43) | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000824 | In the long, sleepless watches of the night,
A gentle face — the face of one long dead —
Looks at me from the wall, where round its head
The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light.
Here in this room she died; and soul more white
Never through martyrdom of fire was led
To its repose; nor can in books be re... | The Cross of Snow | Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000534 | I.1.
Awake, Æolian lyre, awake,
And give to rapture all thy trembling strings.
From Helicon's harmonious springs
A thousand rills their mazy progress take:
The laughing flowers, that round them blow,
Drink life and fragrance as they flow.
Now the rich stream of music winds along
Deep, majestic, smooth, and str... | The Progress of Poesy: A Pindaric Ode | Thomas Gray | 7 | ode |
epf-001015 | Distraction is the panacea, Sir!
I hear my oracle of Medicine say.
Doctor! that same specific yesterday
I tried, and the result will not deter
A second trial. Is the devil’s line
Of golden hair, or raven black, composed?
And does a cheek, like any sea-shell rosed,
Or clear as widowed sky, seem most divine?
No matter, s... | Modern Love: XXVII | George Meredith | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001148 | I see it as it looked one afternoon
In August,— by a fresh soft breeze o’erblown.
The swiftness of the tide, the light thereon,
A far-off sail, white as a crescent moon.
The shining waters with pale currents strewn,
The quiet fishing-smacks, the Eastern cove,
The semi-circle of its dark, green grove.
The luminous grass... | Long Island Sound | Emma Lazarus | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001283 | Oblong, its jutted ends rounding into circles,
The old sunken basin lies with its flat, marble lip
An inch below the terrace tiles.
Over the stagnant water
Slide reflections:
The blue-green of coned yews;
The purple and red of trailing fuchsias
Dripping out of marble urns;
Bright squares of sky
Ribbed by the wake of a ... | The Broken Fountain | Amy Lowell | 5 | free verse |
epf-001284 | I
I wandered through a house of many rooms.
It grew darker and darker,
Until, at last, I could only find my way
By passing my fingers along the wall.
Suddenly my hand shot through an open window,
And the thorn of a rose I could not see
Pricked it so sharply
That I cried aloud.
II
I dug a grave under an oak-tree.
... | Dreams in War Time | Amy Lowell | 5 | free verse |
epf-000984 | Strew on her roses, roses,
And never a spray of yew!
In quiet she reposes;
Ah, would that I did too!
Her mirth the world required;
She bathed it in smiles of glee.
But her heart was tired, tired,
And now they let her be.
Her life was turning, turning,
In mazes of heat and sound.
But for peace her ... | Requiescat | Matthew Arnold | 4 | elegy |
epf-000964 | I am weary of the working,
Weary of the long day’s heat;
To thy comfortable bosom,
Wilt thou take me, spirit sweet?
Weary of the long, blind struggle
For a pathway bright and high,—
Weary of the dimly dying
Hopes that never quite all die.
Weary searching a bad cipher
For a good that must be meant;
Disc... | To Solitude | Alice Cary | 7 | ode |
epf-000487 | An ancient pond!
With a sound from the water
Of the frog as it plunges in. | [An ancient pond!] | Matsuo Bashō | 11 | haiku |
epf-001299 | In the cold I will rise, I will bathe
In waters of ice; myself
Will shiver, and shrive myself,
Alone in the dawn, and anoint
Forehead and feet and hands;
I will shutter the windows from light,
I will place in their sockets the four
Tall candles and set them a-flame
In the grey of the dawn; and myself
Will lay myself st... | The Lonely Death | Adelaide Crapsey | 5 | free verse |
epf-000322 | 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 | 4 | elegy |
epf-000233 | That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's s... | That time of year thou mayst in me behold (Sonnet 73) | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000029 | Most glorious Lord of life, that on this day,
Didst make thy triumph over death and sin:
And having harrow'd hell, didst bring away
Captivity thence captive, us to win:
This joyous day, dear Lord, with joy begin,
And grant that we for whom thou diddest die,
Being with thy dear blood clean wash'd from sin,
May live for ... | Amoretti LXVIII: Most Glorious Lord of Life | Edmund Spenser | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000200 | Mine eye hath play’d the painter and hath stell’d
Thy beauty’s form in table of my heart;
My body is the frame wherein ’tis held,
And perspective it is best painter’s art.
For through the painter must you see his skill,
To find where your true image pictured lies;
Which in my bosom’s shop is hanging still,
That hath hi... | Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath stell'd (Sonnet 24) | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000989 | A Story of Holland
The good dame looked from her cottage
At the close of the pleasant day,
And cheerily called to her little son
Outside the door at play:
“Come, Peter, come! I want you to go,
While there is light to see,
To the hut of the blind old man who lives
Across the dike, for me;
And ta... | A Leak in the Dike | Phoebe Cary | 2 | common measure |
epf-000996 | All hail to the Rev. George Gilfillan of Dundee,
He is the greatest preacher I did ever hear or see.
He is a man of genius bright,
And in him his congregation does delight,
Because they find him to be honest and plain,
Affable in temper, and seldom known to complain.
He preaches in a plain straightforward way,
The peop... | An Address to the Rev. George Gilfillan | Knight of the White Elephant of Burmah William McGonagall | 1 | couplet |
epf-001403 | Whyfore must minstrels unattended sing
And utter sounds by no one understood?
The shy doves coo their music to the wood
And wild—as soon responsive echoes sing:
Perfuméd flowers impetuously will fling
Such exhalations like to harmony;
The moaning waves, the blood-red clouds on high,
In our soul’s sympathy are wantoning... | Sonnet [Whyfore must minstrels unattended sing] | Luis G. Dato | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001133 | I remember a house where all were good
To me, God knows, deserving no such thing:
Comforting smell breathed at very entering,
Fetched fresh, as I suppose, off some sweet wood.
That cordial air made those kind people a hood
All over, as a bevy of eggs the mothering wing
Will, or mild nights the new morsels o... | In the Valley of the Elwy | Gerard Manley Hopkins | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001263 | Goaded and harassed in the factory
That tears our life up into bits of days
Ticked off upon a clock which never stays,
Shredding our portion of Eternity,
We break away at last, and steal the key
Which hides a world empty of hours; ways
Of space unroll, and Heaven overlays
The leafy, sun-lit earth of Fantasy... | The Matrix | Amy Lowell | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000929 | I have no Brother,—they who meet me now
Offer a hand with their own wills defiled,
And, while they wear a smooth unwrinkled brow,
Know not that Truth can never be beguiled;
Go wash the hand that still betrays thy guilt;
Before the spirit’s gaze what stain can hide?
Abel’s red blood upon the earth is spilt,
And by thy t... | Thy Brother’s Blood | Jones Very | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000675 | Late, late yestreen I saw the new Moon,
With the old Moon in her arms;
And I fear, I fear, my Master dear!
We shall have a deadly storm.
(Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence)
I
Well! If the Bard was weather-wise, who made
The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence,
This night, so tranquil now, will not go henc... | Dejection: An Ode | Samuel Taylor Coleridge | 7 | ode |
epf-000268 | Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan
For that deep wound it gives my friend and me:
Is’t not enough to torture me alone,
But slave to slavery my sweet’st friend must be?
Me from myself thy cruel eye hath taken,
And my next self thou harder hast engrossed;
Of him, myself, and thee I am forsaken,
A torment thr... | Sonnet 133: Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan | William Shakespeare | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001074 | “Faith” is a fine invention
For Gentlemen who see!
But Microscopes are prudent
In an Emergency! | “Faith” is a fine invention (202) | Emily Dickinson | 2 | common measure |
epf-000273 | (from Macbeth)
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and caldron bubble.
Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the caldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt and toe of frog,
Wool of bat and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg and howlet's wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil a... | Song of the Witches: “Double, double toil and trouble” | William Shakespeare | 8 | dramatic monologue |
epf-001028 | By this he knew she wept with waking eyes:
That, at his hand's light quiver by her head,
The strange low sobs that shook their common bed
Were called into her with a sharp surprise,
And strangled mute, like little gaping snakes,
Dreadfully venomous to him. She lay
Stone-still, and the long darkness flowed away
With muf... | Modern Love: I | George Meredith | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000027 | This holy season, fit to fast and pray,
Men to devotion ought to be inclin'd:
Therefore I likewise on so holy day,
For my sweet saint some service fit will find.
Her temple fair is built within my mind,
In which her glorious image placed is,
On which my thoughts do day and night attend,
Like sacred priests that never t... | Amoretti XXII: This Holy Season | Edmund Spenser | 0 | sonnet |
epf-001046 | Look in my face; my name is Might-have-been;
I am also call'd No-more, Too-late, Farewell;
Unto thine ear I hold the dead-sea shell
Cast up thy Life's foam-fretted feet between;
Unto thine eyes the glass where that is seen
Which had Life's form and Love's, but by my spell
Is now a shaken shadow into... | The House of Life: 97. A Superscription | Dante Gabriel Rossetti | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000302 | Show me dear Christ, thy spouse so bright and clear.
What! is it she which on the other shore
Goes richly painted? or which, robb'd and tore,
Laments and mourns in Germany and here?
Sleeps she a thousand, then peeps up one year?
Is she self-truth, and errs? now new, now outwore?
Doth she, and did she, and shall she eve... | Holy Sonnets: Show me dear Christ, thy spouse so bright and clear | John Donne | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000069 | Brutus speaks
It must be by his death. And for my part
I know no personal cause to spurn at him,
But for the general. He would be crowned:
How that might change his nature, there’s the question.
It is the bright day that brings forth the adder,
And that craves wary walking. Crown him that,
And then I grant we put a st... | Julius Caesar, Act II, Scene I [It must be by his death. And for my part] | William Shakespeare | 8 | dramatic monologue |
epf-000544 | (excerpt)
Thou know’st my praise of nature most sincere,
And that my raptures are not conjur’d up
To serve occasions of poetic pomp,
But genuine, and art partner of them all.
How oft upon yon eminence our pace
Has slacken’d to a pause, and we have borne
The ruffling wind, scarce conscious that it blew,
While admiratio... | from The Task, Book I: The Sofa | William Cowper | 6 | blank verse |
epf-000766 | 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 | 1 | couplet |
epf-001239 | Seven dog-days we let pass
Naming Queens in Glenmacnass,
All the rare and royal names
Wormy sheepskin yet retains,
Etain, Helen, Maeve, and Fand,
Golden Deirdre's tender hand,
Bert, the big-foot, sung by Villon,
Cassandra, Ronsard found in Lyon.
Queens of Sheba, Meath and Connaught,
Coifed with crown, or gaudy bonnet,
... | Queens | J. M. Synge | 1 | couplet |
epf-000561 | Reflections on Some Drawings of Plants
I can in groups these mimic flowers compose,
These bells and golden eyes, embathed in dew;
Catch the soft blush that warms the early Rose,
Or the pale Iris cloud with veins of blue;
Copy the scallop’d leaves, and downy stems,
And bid the pencil’s varied shades arrest
Spring... | Sonnet XCI [I can in groups these mimic flowers compose] | Charlotte Smith | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000390 | Hence vain deluding Joys,
The brood of Folly without father bred,
How little you bested,
Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys;
Dwell in some idle brain,
And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess,
As thick and numberless
As the gay motes that people the sunbeams,
Or likest hovering dreams,
... | Il Penseroso | John Milton | 1 | couplet |
epf-001289 | The faint shadow of the morning moon?
Nay, the snow falling on the earth.
The mist of blossoming flowers?
Nay, poetry smiling up the sky. | [The faint shadow of the morning moon?] | Yone Noguchi | 11 | haiku |
epf-000965 | Or the true feelings of those slaves who say they
would not be free. The following shows their
feelings when they are free.
Air—“Pop Goes the Weasel”
Old master always said,
Jack will never leave me:
He has a noble head,
He will not deceive me.
I will treat him every day
Kindly and clever,
T... | “No, Master, Never!” | Joshua McCarter Simpson | 8 | dramatic monologue |
epf-000741 | The rolls and harrows lie at rest beside
The battered road; and spreading far and wide
Above the russet clods, the corn is seen
Sprouting its spiry points of tender green,
Where squats the hare, to terrors wide awake,
Like some brown clod the harrows failed to break.
Opening their golden caskets to the sun,
The butterc... | The Skylark | John Clare | 1 | couplet |
epf-000330 | Here lies, to each her parents’ ruth,
Mary, the daughter of their youth;
Yet all heaven’s gifts being heaven’s due,
It makes the father less to rue.
At six months’ end she parted hence
With safety of her innocence;
Whose soul heaven’s queen, whose name she bears,
In comfort of her mother’s tears,
Hath placed amongst he... | On My First Daughter | Ben Jonson | 1 | couplet |
epf-000573 | O thou bright jewel in my aim I strive
To comprehend thee. Thine own words declare
Wisdom is higher than a fool can reach.
I cease to wonder, and no more attempt
Thine height t’explore, or fathom thy profound.
But, O my soul, sink not into despair,
Virtue is near thee, and with gentle hand
Would now embrace thee, hover... | On Virtue | Phillis Wheatley | 6 | blank verse |
epf-000764 | Old Meg she was a Gipsy,
And liv'd upon the Moors:
Her bed it was the brown heath turf,
And her house was out of doors.
Her apples were swart blackberries,
Her currants pods o' broom;
Her wine was dew of the wild white rose,
Her book a churchyard tomb.
Her Brothers were the craggy hills,
... | Meg Merrilies | John Keats | 3 | ballad |
epf-000841 | Of all the rides since the birth of time,
Told in story or sung in rhyme, —
On Apuleius’s Golden Ass,
Or one-eyed Calender’s horse of brass,
Witch astride of a human back,
Islam’s prophet on Al-Borák, —
The strangest ride that ever was sped
Was Ireson’s, out from Marblehead!
Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
... | Skipper Ireson’s Ride | John Greenleaf Whittier | 1 | couplet |
epf-000736 | I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
From the seas and the streams;
I bear light shade for the leaves when laid
In their noonday dreams.
From my wings are shaken the dews that waken
The sweet buds every one,
When rocked to rest on their mother's breast,
As she dances about the sun.
I wie... | The Cloud | Percy Bysshe Shelley | 2 | common measure |
epf-001344 | Hand trembling towards hand; the amazing lights
Of heart and eye. They stood on supreme heights.
Ah, the delirious weeks of honeymoon!
Soon they returned, and, after strange adventures,
Settled at Balham by the end of June.
Their money was in Can. Pacs. B. Debentures,
And in Antofagastas. Still he went
Cityward daily;... | Sonnet Reversed | Rupert Brooke | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000649 | There was a Boy; ye knew him well, ye cliffs
And islands of Winander! many a time,
At evening, when the earliest stars began
To move along the edges of the hills,
Rising or setting, would he stand alone,
Beneath the trees, or by the glimmering lake;
And there, with fingers interwoven, both hands
Pressed closely palm to... | There was a Boy | William Wordsworth | 6 | blank verse |
epf-001338 | Christ was your lord and captain all your life,
He fails the world but you he did not fail,
He led you through all forms of grief and strife
Intact, a man full-armed, he let prevail
Nor outward malice nor the worse-fanged snake
That coils in one’s own brain against your calm,
That great rich jewel well guarded for his ... | To his Father | Robinson Jeffers | 0 | sonnet |
epf-000436 | Where the remote Bermudas ride
In th’ ocean’s bosom unespy’d,
From a small boat, that row’d along,
The list’ning winds receiv’d this song.
What should we do but sing his praise
That led us through the wat’ry maze
Unto an isle so long unknown,
And yet far kinder than our own?
Where he the huge sea-monsters wracks,... | Bermudas | Andrew Marvell | 1 | couplet |
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