Search
Search results
Displaying 291 - 300
Poems by Emily Dickinson: XXVII ("On the bleakness of my lot")
by EmilyDickinsonXXVIContrastXXVII On the bleakness of my lot Bloom I strove to raise. Late, my acre of a rock Yielded grape and maize. Soil of flint if steadfast tilled Will…Ralph Waldo Emerson: Good Hope
Good HopeThe cup of life is not so shallow That we have drained the best, That all the wine at once we swallow And lees make all the rest. Maids of as soft a bloom shall marry As Hymen yet…Poems by Emily Dickinson (Third Series): With a Flower
by EmilyDickinsonSatisfiedSongWith a Flower With a Flower When roses cease to bloom, dear, And violets are done, When bumble-bees in solemn flight Have passed beyond the sun, The…Poems by Emily Dickinson (Third Series): Song
by EmilyDickinsonWith a FlowerLoyaltySong Song Summer for thee grant I may be When summer days are flown! Thy music still when whippoorwill And oriole are done! For thee to bloom, I'…Aesop's Fables: The Rose and the Amaranth
by Aesop The Nightingale and the HawkThe Man, the Horse, the Ox, and the DogThe Rose and the Amaranth A Rose and an Amaranth blossomed side by side in a garden, and the Amaranth said to…David Morton: Symbol
SymbolDavid MortonMy faith is all a doubtful thing, Wove on a doubtful loom, — Until there comes, each showery spring, A cherry-tree in bloom; And Christ who died upon a tree That death…Percy Bysshe Shelley: Queen Mab Book 9
by Percy Bysshe Shelley 8 Notes on Queen Mab 9 'O happy Earth! reality of Heaven! To which those restless souls that ceaselessly Throng through the human universe, aspire; Thou consummation…Amy Lowell: VII
VIIOver the slate roof tall clouds, like ships of the line, pass along the sky. The glass-houses glitter splotchily, for many of their lights are broken. Roses bloom, fiery cinders quenching…Walt Whitman: Passage to India, Part 7
Part 7Passage indeed O soul to primal thought, Not lands and seas alone, thy own clear freshness, The young maturity of brood and bloom, To realms of budding bibles.O soul, repressless, I…Walt Whitman: You Lingering Sparse Leaves of Me
You Lingering Sparse Leaves of MeYou lingering sparse leaves of me on winter-nearing boughs, And I some well-shorn tree of field or orchard-row; You tokens diminute and lorn—(not now the…