This pdf. file is compiled by Darshan Chande.

Read more of classic short stories and poems, and many other fine pieces of old and modern world literature on the Literature-lovers' Website

It's Such a Little Thing by Emily Dickinson

It's such a little thing to weep, So short a thing to sigh; And yet by trades the size of these We men and women die!

Heart, We Will Forget Him by Emily Dickinson

Heart, we will forget him, You and I, tonight! You must forget the warmth he gave, I will forget the light. When you have done pray tell me, Then I, my thoughts, will dim. Haste! lest while you're lagging I may remember him!

Evening Song by Sidney Lanier

Look off, dear Love, across the sallow sands, And mark yon meeting of the sun and sea; How long they kiss in sight of all the lands, Ah! longer, longer we. Now, in the sea's red vintage melts the sun As Egypt's pearl dissolved in rosy wine And Cleopatra-night drinks all- 'tis done, Love, lay thine hand in mine. Come forth, sweet stars, and comfort heaven's heart, Glimmer, ye waves, 'round else unlighted sands; Oh night! divorce our sun and sky apartNever our lips, our hands.

I Taste a Liquor by Emily Dickinson

I taste a liquor never brewed From Tankards scooped in Pearl. Not all the vats upon the Rhine Yield such an alcohol! Inebriate of air - am I And Debauchee of Dew. Reeling - thro endless summer days From inns of molten blue. When "Landlords" turn the drunken bee Out of the foxglove's door When butterflies - renounce their "drams" I shall but drink the more!

Till seraphs swing their snowy hats And saints - to windows run To see the little Tippler Leaning against the - sun

Annie Laurie by William Douglas

Maxwelton's hills are bonnie Where early falls the dew And 'twas there that Annie Laurie Gived me her promise true. Gived me her promise true Which ne'er forgot shall be And for bonnie Annie Laurie I'd lay me down and die. Her brow is like the snow drift, Her throat is like the swan, Her face, it is the fairest That e'er the sun shone on. That e'er the sun shone on And dark blue are her eyes And for bonnie Annie Laurie I'd lay me down and die. Like dew on the daisy lyin' Is the fall of her fairy feet And like winds in summer sighing Her voice is low and sweet.

Her voice is low and sweet And she's all the world to me And for bonnie Annie Laurie I'd lay me down and die.

The Heart Asks by Emily Dickinson

The heart asks pleasure first And then, excuse from pain; And then those little anodynes That deaden suffering, And then to go to sleep And then, if it should be, The will of its Inquisitor The liberty to die!

My Pretty Rose Tree by William Blake

A flower was offered to me: Such a flower as May never bore. But I said "I've a Pretty Rose-tree", And I passed the sweet flower o'er. Then I went to my Pretty Rose-tree: To tend her by day and by night. But my Rose turn'd away with jealousy:

And her thorns were my only delight.

Bereft by Robert Frost

Where had I heard this wind before Change like this to a deeper roar? What would it take my standing there for, Holding open a restive door, Looking downhill to a frothy shore? Summer was past and day was past. Somber clouds in the west were massed. Out in the porch's sagging floor Leaves got up in a coil and hissed, Blindly struck at my knee and missed. Something sinister in the tone Told me my secret must be known: Word I was in the house alone Somehow must have gotten abroad, Word I was in my life alone, Word I had no one left but God.

Sweet Disorder by Robert Herrick

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 Ribbands to flow confusedly -A winning wave, deserving note, In the tempestuous petticoat -A careless shoe-string, in whose tie I see a wild civility -Do more bewitch me than when art Is too precise in every part.

Soon, O Ianthe! by Walter Savage Landor

Soon, O Ianthe! life is o'er, And sooner beauty's heavenly smile: Grant only (and I ask no more), Let love remain that little while.

To Earthward by Robert Frost

Love at the lips was touch As sweet as I could bear; And once that seemed too much;

I lived on air That crossed me from sweet things, The flow of - was it musk From hidden grapevine springs Down hill at dusk? I had the swirl and ache From sprays of honeysuckle That when they're gathered shake Dew on the knuckle. I craved strong sweets, but those Seemed strong when I was young; The petal of the rose It was that stung. Now no joy but lacks salt That is not dashed with pain And weariness and fault; I crave the stain Of tears, the aftermark Of almost too much love, The sweet of bitter bark And burning clove. When stiff and sore and scarred I take away my hand From leaning on it hard In grass and sand, The hurt is not enough: I long for weight and strength To feel the earth as rough

To all my length.

She Walks In Beauty by George Gordon, Lord Byron

She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impair'd the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!

Hope is a Thing With Feathers by Emily Dickinson

Hope is a thing with feathers That perches in the soul And sings a tune without words And never stops at all. And sweetest, in the gale, is heard And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That keeps so many warm. I've heard it in the chilliest land And on the strangest sea Yet, never, in extremity It ask a crumb of me.

John Anderson, my Jo by Robert Burns

John Anderson, my Jo, John, When we were first acquent, Your locks were like the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent; But now your brow is beld, John, Your locks are like the snaw, But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson, my Jo! John Anderson, my Jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither, And monie a cantie day, John, We've had wi' ane anither;

Now we maun totter down, John, And hand in hand we'll go, And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson, my Jo!

For some we loved by Omar Khayyam

For some we loved, the loveliest and the best That from His vintage rolling Time hath pressed, Have drunk the Cup a round or two before, And one by one crept silently to rest.

A Magic Moment I Remember by Alexander Pushkin

A magic moment I remember: I raised my eyes and you were there. A fleeting vision, the quintessence Of all that's beautiful and rare. I pray to mute despair and anguish To vain pursuits the world esteems, Long did I near your soothing accents, Long did your features haunt my dreams. Time passed- A rebel storm-blast scattered The reveries that once were mine And I forgot your soothing accents,

Your features gracefully divine. In dark days of enforced retirement I gazed upon grey skies above With no ideals to inspire me, No one to cry for, live for, love. Then came a moment of renaissance, I looked up- you again are there, A fleeting vision, the quintessence Of all that`s beautiful and rare.

I Held a Jewel by Emily Dickinson

I held a jewel in my fingers And went to sleep The day was warm, and winds were prosy I said, "Twill keep" I woke - and chide my honest fingers, The Gem was gone And now, an Amethyst remembrance Is all I own

Song: To Celia by Ben Jonson

Drink to me, only with thine eyes And I will pledge with mine;

Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine: But might I of Jove's nectar sup I would not change for thine. I sent thee late a rosy wreath, Not so much honouring thee As giving it a hope that there It could not withered be But thou thereon didst only breath And sent'st it back to me: Since, when it grows and smells, I swear, Not of itself but thee.

There is a Lady Sweet and Kind by Thomas Ford

There is a lady sweet and kind, Was never a face so pleased my mind; I did but see her passing by, And yet, I'll love her till I die. Her gesture, motion, and her smiles, Her wit, her voice my heart beguiles, Beguiles my heart, I know not why, And yet, I'll love her till I die. Cupid is winged and he doth range, Her country, so, my love doth change:

But change she earth, or change she sky, Yet, I will love her till I die.

What If I Say by Emily Dickinson

What if I say I shall not wait! What if I burst the fleshly Gate And pass, escaped- to thee! What if I file this Mortal off See where it hurt me That's enough And wade in Liberty! They cannot take me any more! Dungeons can call and Guns implore; Unmeaning now to me As laughter was an hour ago Or Laces or a Traveling Show Or Who died yesterday!

A Red, Red Rose by Robert Burns

O my luve's like a red, red rose. That's newly sprung in June; O my luve's like a melodie That's sweetly play'd in tune. As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,

So deep in luve am I; And I will love thee still, my Dear, Till a'the seas gang dry. Till a' the seas gang dry, my Dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun: I will luve thee still, my Dear, While the sands o'life shall run. And fare thee weel my only Luve! And fare thee weel a while! And I will come again, my Luve, Tho' it were ten thousand mile!

She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways by William Wordsworth

She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love: A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye! Fair as a star-- when only one Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be; But she is in her grave, and, oh, The difference to me!

Annabel Lee by Edgar Allen Poe

It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me. I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea; But we loved with a love that was more than love-I and my Annabel Lee; With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me. And this was the reason, that long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her high-born kinsman came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre, In this kingdom by the sea. The angel, not half so happy in heaven, Went envying her and me... Yes!--that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night,

Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we, Of many far wiser than we-And neither the angels in heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee, For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling--my darling--my life and my bride, In the sepulchre there by the sea, In her tomb by the sounding sea.

The Lake by Edgar Allen Poe

In spring of youth it was my lot To haunt of the wide world a spot The which I could not love the less-So lovely was the loneliness, Of a wild lake, with black rock bound And the tall pines that towered around. But when the Night had thrown her pall Upon that spot, as upon all,

And the mystic wind went by Murmuring in melody-Then- ah then I would awake To the terror of the lone lake. Yet, that terror was not fright But a tremulous delight-A feeling not the jewelled mine Could teach or bribe me to define-Nor Love- although the Love were thine. Death was in that poisonous wave And in its gulf a fitting grave For him who thence could solace bring To his lone imagining-Whose solitary soul could make An Eden of that dim lake.

My Friend by Emily Dickinson

My friend must be a bird Because he flies. Mortal, my friend must be Because he dies! Barbs has he, like a bee. Ah, curious friend. Thou puzzlest me

Beauty and Love by Andrew Young

Beauty and love are all my dream; They change not with the changing day; Love stays forever like a stream That flows but never flows away; And beauty is the bright sun-bow That blossoms on the spray that showers Where the loud water falls below, Making a wind among the flowers.

Under the Harvest Moon by Carl Sandburg

Under the harvest moon, When the soft silver Drips shimmering Over garden nights, Death, the gray mocker, Comes and whispers to you As a beautiful friend Who remembers. Under the summer roses When the flagrant crimson Lurks in the dusk Of the wild red leaves, Love, with little hands,

Comes and touches you With a thousand memories, And asks you Beautiful, unanswerable questions.

Lodged by Robert Frost

The rain to the wind said, "You push and I'll pelt." They so smote the garden bed That the flowers actually knelt, And lay lodged -- though not dead. I know how the flowers felt.

Tell me not, Sweet, by Richard Lovelace

Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind For, 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 unconstancy is such

As you too shall adore; For, I could not love thee, Dear, so much, Loved I not honour more.

Sonnets from the Portuguese, XIV by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

If thou must love me, let it be for nought Except for love's sake only. Do not say 'I love her for her smile--her look--her way Of speaking gently,--for a trick of thought That falls in well with mine, and certes brought A sense of pleasant ease on such a day For these things in themselves, Beloved, may Be changed, or change for thee,--and love, so wrought, May be unwrought so. Neither love me for Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry, A creature might forget to weep, who bore Thy comfort long, and lose thy love, thereby! But love me for love's sake, that evermore Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity.

Maybe by Carl Sandburg

Maybe he believes me, maybe not. Maybe I can marry him, maybe not.

Maybe the wind on the prairie, The wind on the sea, maybe, Somebody, somewhere, maybe can tell. I will lay my head on his shoulder And when he asks me I will say yes, Maybe.

Mag by Carl Sandburg

I wish to God I never saw you, Mag. I wish you never quit your job and came along with me. I wish we never bought a license and a white dress For you to get married in the day we ran off to the minister And told him we would love each other and take care of each other Always and always, as long as the sun and the rain lasts anywhere. Yes, I'm wishing now you lived somewhere away from here And I was a bum on the bumpers a thousand miles away, dead broke. I wish the kids had never come, And the rent, and coal, and clothes to pay for, And the grocery man calling for cash. Every day, cash for beans and prunes. I wish to God I never saw you, Mag! I wish to God the kids had never come!

The Spring and the Fall by Edna St. Vincent Millay

In the spring of the year, in the spring of the year, I walked the road beside my dear. The trees were black where the bark was wet. I see them yet, in the spring of the year. He broke me a bough of the blossoming peach That was out of the way and hard to reach. In the fall of the year, in the fall of the year, I walked the road beside my dear. The rooks went up with a raucous trill. I hear them still, in the fall of the year. He laughed at all I dared to praise And broke my heart, in little ways. Year be spring or year be falling, The bark will drip and the birds be calling. There's much that's fine to see and hear In the spring of a year, in the fall of a year. 'Tis not love's going hurt my days, But that it went in little ways.

The Dream by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Love, if I weep it will not matter, And if you laugh I shall not care; Foolish am I to think about it, But it is good to feel you there. Love, in my sleep I dreamed of waking,

White and awful the moonlight reached Over the floor, and somewhere, somewhere There was a shutter loose- it screeched! Swung in the wind- and no wind blowingI was afraid and turned to you, Put out my hand to you for comfortAnd you were gone! Cold as the dew, Under my hand the moonlight lay! Love, if you laugh I shall not care, But if I weep it will not matterAh, it is good to feel you there.

My Love Is Like to Ice by Edmund Spenser

My love is like to ice, and I to fire: How come it then that this her cold is so great Is not dissolved through my so hot desire, But harder grows the more I her entreat? Or how comes it that my exceeding heat Is not allayed by her heart-frozen cold, But that I burn much more in boiling sweat, And feel my flames augmented manifold? What more miraculous thing may be told, That fire, which is congealed with senseless cold, Should kindle fire by wonderful device? Such is the power of love in gentle mind, That it can alter all the course of kind.

Mild Is The Parting Year by Walter Savage Landor

Mild is the parting year and sweet The odour of the falling spray; Life passes on more rudely fleet, And balmless is its closing day. I wait its close, I court its gloom, But mourn that never must there fall; Or on my breast or on my tomb The tear that would have soothed it all.

If I May Have It by Emily Dickinson

If I may have it when it's dead I will contented be; If just as soon as breath is out It shall belong to me, Until they lock it in the grave, 'Tis bliss I cannot weigh, For though they lock thee in the grave, Myself can hold the key. Think of it, lover! I and thee Permitted face to face to be; After a life, a death we'll say, For death was that, but this is thee.

Alms by Edna St. Vincent Millay

My heart is what it was before, A house where people come and go But it is winter with your love, The sashes are beset with snow. I light the lamp and lay the cloth, I blow the coals to blaze again But it is winter with your love The frost is thick upon the pane I know a winter when it comes The leaves are listless on the boughs; I watched your love a little while And brought my plants into the house. I water them and turned them south, I snap the dead brown from the stem But it is winter with your love, I only tend and water them. There was a time I stood and watched The small ill-natured sparrows' fray I loved the beggar that I fed, I cared for what he had to say. I stood and watched him out of sight; Today I reach around the door And set a bowl upon the step My heart is what it was before.

But it is winter with your love; I scatter crumbs upon the sill And close the window - and the birds May take or leave them, as they will.

Of Pearls and Stars by Heinrich Heine

The pearly treasures of the sea, The lights that spatter heaven above, More precious than these wonders are My heart-of-hearts filled with your love. The ocean's power, the heavenly sights Cannot outweigh a love filled heart. And sparkling stars or glowing pearls Pale as love flashes, beams and darts. So, little, youthful maiden come Into my ample, feverish heart For heaven and earth and sea and sky Do melt as love hath melt my heart.

The Sorrow of Love by William Butler Yeats

The quarrel of the sparrow in the eaves, The full round moon and the star-laden sky,

And the loud song of the ever-singing leaves, Had hid away earth's old and weary cry. And then you came with those red mournful lips, And with you came the whole of the world's tears, And all the sorrows of her labouring ships, And all the burden of her myriad years. And now the sparrows warring in the eaves, The curd-pale moon, the white stars in the sky, And the loud chaunting of the unquiet leaves, Are shaken with earth's old and weary cry.

Happiness by Carl Sandburg

I asked professors who teach the meaning of life to tell me, what is happiness. And I went to famous executives who boss the work of thousands of men. They all shook their heads and gave me a smile, as though I was trying to fool with them. And then one Sunday afternoon I wandered out along the Des Plaines River And I saw a crowd of Hungarians under the trees with their women and children and a keg of beer and an accordion.

A Song Of Love

by Sidney Lanier

Hey, rose, just born Twin to a thorn; Was't so with you, O Love and Scorn? Sweet eyes that smiled, Now wet and wild: O Eye and Tear- mother and child. Well: Love and Pain Be kinfolks twain; Yet would, Oh would I could Love again.

The Rose of Sharon by Solomon

I am the rose of Sharon, and the lily of the valleys. As the lily among thorns, so is my love among the daughters. As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons. I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste. He brought me to the banqueting house, and his banner over me was love. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples: for I am sick of love. His left hand is under my head,

and his right hand doth embrace me. I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, by the roes, and by the hinds of the field... that ye stir not up, nor awake my love... till he please.

Music, When Soft Voices Die by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory -Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken. Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heap'd for the beloved's bed; And so thy thoughts when thou are gone, Love itself shall slumber on.

Love And A Question by Robert Frost

A stranger came to the door at eve, And he spoke the bridegroom fair. He bore a green-white stick in his hand, And, for all burden, care. He asked with the eyes more than the lips For a shelter for the night,

And he turned and looked at the road afar Without a window light. The bridegroom came forth into the porch With, "Let us look at the sky, And question what of the night to be, Stranger, you and I." The woodbine leaves littered the yard, The woodbine berries were blue, Autumn, yes, winter was in the wind; "Stranger, I wish I knew." Within, the bride in the dusk alone Bent over the open fire, Her face rose-red with the glowing coal And the thought of the heart's desire. The bridegroom looked at the weary road, Yet saw but her within, And wished her heart in a case of gold And pinned with a silver pin. The bridegroom thought it little to give A dole of bread, a purse, A heartfelt prayer for the poor of God, Or for the rich a curse; But whether or not a man was asked To mar the love of two by harboring woe in the bridal house, The bridegroom wished he knew.

When I Was One-And-Twenty by A. E. Housman

When I was one-and-twenty I heard a wise man say, "Give crowns and pounds and guineas But not your heart away; Give pearls away and rubies But keep your fancy free." But I was one-and-twenty, No use to talk to me. When I was one-and-twenty I heard him say again, "The heart out of the bosom Was never given in vain; 'Tis paid with sighs aplenty And sold for endless rue." And I am two-and-twenty And oh, 'tis true, 'tis true.

The Rose in the Deeps of his Heart by William Butler Yeats

All things uncomely and broken, all things worn-out and old, The cry of a child by the roadway, the creak of a lumbering cart, The heavy steps of the ploughman,

splashing the wintry mould, Are wronging your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart. The wrong of unshapely things is a wrong too great to be told; I hunger to build them anew and sit on a green knoll apart, With the earth and the sky and the water, remade, like a casket of gold For my dreams of your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart.

Shall I Compare Thee, (Sonnet XVIII) by William Shakespeare

Shall I compare thee to a Summer's day? Thou are more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And Summer's lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd: But thy eternal Summer shall not fade Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st; Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st: So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

A Charm Invests a Face by Emily Dickinson

A charm invests a face Imperfectly beheld. The lady dare not lift her veil For fear it be dispelled. But peers beyond her mesh, And wishes, and denies, ?Lest interview annul a want That image satisfies.

Proud of my Broken Heart by Emily Dickinson

Proud of my broken heart, since thou didst break it. Proud of the pain, I did not feel ?till thee. Proud of my night, since thou, with moons, dos't shake it. Not to partake thy passion, -my humility

To Mary by John Clare

I sleep with thee and wake with thee And yet thou art not there;

I fill my arms with thoughts of thee And press the common air. Thy eyes are gazing upon mine When thou art out of sight; My lips are always touching thine At morning, noon, and night. I think and speak of other things To keep my mind at rest But still to thee my memory clings Like love in woman's breast. I hide it from the world's wide eye And think and speak contrary, But soft the wind comes from the sky And whispers tales of Mary. The night wind whispers in my ear, The moon shines on my face; The burden still of chilling fear I find in every place. The breeze is whispering in the bush, The leaves fall from the tree; All sighing on and will not hush, Some pleasant tales of thee.

Who Ever Loved That Loved Not at First Sight? by Christopher Marlowe

It lies not in our power to love or hate, For will in us is overruled by fate.

When two are stripped, long ere the course begin, We wish that one should love, the other win; And one especially do we affect Of two gold ingots, like in each respect: The reason no man knows; let it suffice What we behold is censured by our eyes. Where both deliberate, the love is slight: Who ever loved, that loved not at first sight?

To lose Thee by Emily Dickinson

To lose thee, sweeter than to gain All other hearts I knew. ?Tis true the drought is destitute But, then, I had the dew! The Caspian has its realms of sand, Its other realm of sea. Without this sterile perquisite No Caspian could be.

Beautiful Dreamer by Stephen Foster

Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me, Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee; Sounds of the rude world heard in the day,

Lull'd by the moonlight have all pass'd a way! Beautiful dreamer, queen of my song, List while I woo thee with soft melody; Gone are the cares of life's busy throng, -Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me! Beautiful dreamer, out on the sea Mermaids are chaunting the wild lorelie; Over the streamlet vapors are borne, Waiting to fade at the bright coming morn. Beautiful dreamer, beam on my heart, E'en as the morn on the streamlet and sea; Then will all clouds of sorrow depart, -Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!

We Are Seven by William Wordsworth

A simple child... That lightly draws its breath And feels its life in every limb, What should it know of death? I met a little cottage girlShe was eight years old, she said; Her hair was thick with many a curl That clustered 'round her head. She had a rustic, woodland air And she was wildly clad; Her eyes were fair, and very fair;

Her beauty made me glad. "Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be?" "How many? Seven in all," she said And wondering looked at me. "And where are they? I pray you tell." She answered, "Seven are we; And two of us at Conway dwell And two are gone to sea." "Two of us in the churchyard lie, My sister and my brother And in the churchyard cottage, I Dwell near them with my mother." "You say that two at Conway dwell And two are gone to sea, Yet, ye are seven! I pray you tell, Sweet maid, how this may be." Then did the little maid reply, "Seven boys and girls are we; Two of us in the churchyard lie, Beneath the churchyard tree." "You run about, my little maid, Your limbs they are alive; If two are in the churchyard laid Then ye are only five." "Their graves are green, they may be seen," The little maid replied, "Twelve steps or more from my mother's door

And they are side by side." "My stockings there I often knit, My kerchief there I hem; And there upon the ground I sit And sing a song to them." "And often after sunset, sir, When it is light and fair I take my little porringer And eat my supper there." "The first that died was sister Jane; In bed she moaning lay, Till God released her of her pain And then she went away." "So in the churchyard she was laid And, when the grass was dry Together round her grave we played, My brother John and I." "And when the ground was white with snow And I could run and slide, My brother John was forced to go And he lies by her side." "How many are you, then," said I, "If they two are in heaven?" Quick was the little maid's reply, "O master! We are seven." "But they are dead; those two are dead! Their spirits are in heaven!" 'T was throwing words away; for still

The little maid would have her will And said... "Nay, we are seven!"

Sonnet CXVI by William Shakespeare

Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love, Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove. Oh, no! it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests.. and is never shaken. It is the star to every wandering bark Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love is not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come. Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out.. even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

Wind and Window Flower by Robert Frost

Lovers, forget your love, And list to the love of these, She a window flower,

And he a winter breeze. When the frosty window veil Was melted down at noon, And the caged yellow bird Hung over her in tune, He marked her through the pane, He could not help but mark, And only passed her by To come again at dark. He was a winter wind, Concerned with ice and snow, Dead weeds and unmated birds, And little of love could know. But he sighed upon the sill, He gave the sash a shake, As witness all within Who lay that night awake. Perchance he half prevailed To win her for the flight From the firelit looking-glass And warm stove-window light. But the flower leaned aside And thought of naught to say, And morning found the breeze A hundred miles away.

A Dream within a Dream by Edgar Allen Poe

Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avowYou are not wrong, who deem That my days have been a dream; Yet, if Hope has flown away In a night, or in a day, In a vision, or in none, Is it, therefore, the less gone? All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream. I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of golden sandHow few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep, While I weep- while I weep! O God! can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp? O God! can I not save One from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream?

Die Lorelei by Heinrich Heine

I know not the significance Or the meaning of my sadness... There's a fairy-tail from times past A lingering portion of my madness. The air is cool as light recedes And calmly flows the Rhine; The peak of a nearby mountain glows In the gloaming sun's shine. Above a chaste woman sits Radiant and quite unaware; With golden jewelry flashing She combs her golden hair. She strokes it with a glittering comb, As she toils a song's befalling. A mysterious song, an enchanting air With a melody enthralling. Her lay is heard by the boatmen near Who are seized with woe and pain And tho' there are dangerous rocks nearby To her visage and song they strain. So, the boat is lost and the boatmen, too Engulfed, I do imply By the beautiful face and enticing strain, The song of the Lorelei.

She Tells Her Love by Robert Ranke Graves

She tells her love while half asleep, In the dark hours, With half-words whispered low: As Earth stirs in her winter sleep And puts out grass and flowers Despite the snow, Despite the falling snow.

Why Is The Rose So Pale by Heinrich Heine

Oh Dearest, canst thou tell me why The Rose should be so pale? And why the azure Violet Should wither in the vale? And why the Lark should, in the cloud, So sorrowfully sing? And why from loveliest balsam-buds A scent of death should spring? And why the Sun upon the mead So chillingly should frown? And why the Earth should, like a grave, Be mouldering and brown? And why is it that I, myself, So languishing should be? And why is it, my Heart-of-Hearts, That thou forsakest me?

She Comes Not by Herbert Trench

She comes not when Noon is on the roses-Too bright is Day. She comes not to the Soul till it reposes From work and play. But when Night is on the hills, and the great Voices Roll in from Sea, By starlight and candle-light and dreamlight She comes to me.

A wounded deer leaps highest by Emily Dickinson

A wounded deer leaps highest, I've heard the hunter tell; 'Tis but the ecstasy of death, And then the brake is still. The smitten rock that gushes, The trampled steel that springs: A cheek is always redder Just where the hectic stings! Mirth is mail of anguish, In which its cautious arm Lest anybody spy the blood

And, "you're hurt" exclaim

She Is Not Fair To Outward View by Hartley Coleridge

She is not fair to outward view as many maidens be; Her loveliness I never knew until she smiled on me. Oh, then I saw her eye was bright, a well of love, a spring of light. But now her looks are coy and cold, to mine they ne'er reply And, yet, I cease not to behold the love-light in her eye. Her very frowns are fairer far than smiles of other maidens are.

Love Not Me by John Wilbye

Love not me for comely grace, For my pleasing eye or face, Nor for any outward part: No, nor for a constant heart! For these may fail or turn to ill: Should thou and I sever.

Keep, therefore, a true woman's eye, And love me still, but know not why! So hast thou the same reason still To dote upon me ever.

Come Fill The Cup by Omar Khayyam

Come, fill the cup, and in the fire of spring Your winter garment of repentance fling. The bird of time has but a little way To flutter - and the bird is on the wing.

Still to be Neat by Ben Jonson

Still to be neat, still to be drest, As you were going to a feast; Still to be powder'd, still perfum'd: Lady, it is to be presum'd, Though art's hid causes are not found, All is not sweet, all is not sound. Give me a look, give me a face, That make simplicity a grace; Robes loosely flowing, hair as free: Such sweet neglect more taketh me Than all th'adulteries of art.

They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.

The Clod & the Pebble by William Blake

Love seeketh not Itself to please, Nor for itself hath any care; But for another gives its ease, And builds a Heaven in Hell's despair. So sang a little Clod of Clay, Trodden with the cattle's feet; But a Pebble of the brook, Warbled out these metres meet. Love seeketh only Self to please, To bind another to It's delight: Joys in another's loss of ease, And builds a Hell in Heavens despite.

I Sing by Emily Dickinson

I sing to use the waiting My bonnet but to tie, And close the door unto my house No more to do have I ?Till his best step approaching, We journey to the day,

And tell each other how we sung To keep the Dark away.

My Love in Her Attire by Author Unknown

My love in her attire doth show her wit, It doth so well become her: For every season she hath dressings, fit, For winter, spring, and summer. No beauty she doth miss, When all her robes are on: But Beauty's self she is, When all her robes are gone.

Dear Chains by Alexander Pushkin

Rose-maiden, no, I do not quarrel With these dear chains, they don't demean. The nightingale embushed in laurel, The sylvan singers' feathered queen, Does she not bear the same sweet plight? Near the proud rose's beauty dwelling, And with her tender anthems thrilling The dusk of a voluptuous night.

When the Lamp Is Shattered by Percy Bysshe Shelley

When the lamp is shattered The light in the dust lies dead When the cloud is scattered The rainbow's glory is shed. When the lute is broken, Sweet tones are remembered not. When the lips have spoken, Loved accents are soon forgot. As music and splendour Survive not the lamp and the lute. The heart's echoes render No song when the spirit is mute-No song but sad dirges, Like the wind through a ruined cell, Or the mournful surges That ring the dead seaman's knell. When hearts have once mingled Love first leaves the well-built nest. The weak one is singled To endure what it once possessed. Oh Love! who bewailest The frailty of all things here, Why choose you the frailest For your cradle, your home, and your bier? Its passions will rock thee

As the storms rock the ravens on high. Bright reason will mock thee, Like the sun from a wintry sky. >From thy nest every rafter Will rot, and thine eagle home Leave thee naked to laughter, When leaves fall and cold winds come.

Farewell to Love by Michael Drayton

Since there's not help, come let us kiss and part; Nay, I am done, you get no more of me; And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart, That thus so cleanly I myself can free; Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows, And when we meet at any time again, Be it not seen in either of our brows That we, one jot of former love retain. Now, at the last gasp of love's latest breath, When his pulse failing, passion speechless lies, When faith is kneeling by his bed of death, And innocence is closing up his eyes, Now, if thou woulds't, when all have given him over, From death to life Thou might'st him yet recover.

A Friend Like You

by Author Unknown

There's lots of things With which I'm blessed, Tho' my life's been both Sunny and Blue, But of all my blessings, This one's the best: To have a friend like you. In times of trouble Friends will say, "Just ask... I'll help you through it." But you don't wait for me to ask, You just get up And you do it! And I can think Of nothing in life That I could more wisely do, Than know a friend, And be a friend, And love a friend... like you.

The Banks Of Bonnie Doon by Robert Burns

Yon banks and hills of bonnie Doon, How can you bloom so fresh and fair? And little birds, how can you chaunt With me so weary... full o' care?

You'll break my heart, you warbling birds That wanton thru the flow'ry thorns You remind me of departed joys Departed... never to return. Oft did I rove by bonnie Doon To see the rose and woodbine twine And every bird sang of its love As fondly once I sang of mine. With lightsome heart I pulled a rose Full sweet from off its thorny tree But my first lover stole that rose And, ah! has left its thorns with me.

You know, my friends by Omar Khayyam

You know, my friends, with what a brave carouse I made a second marriage in my house Divorced old barren Reason from my bed, And took the daughter of the Vine to spouse.

The Bait by John Donne

Come live with me and be my love And we will some new pleasures prove Of golden sands and crystal brooks, With silken lines and silver hooks.

There will the river- whispering run Warmed by thy eyes more than the sun And there th' enamoured fish will stay, Begging themselves they may betray. When thou wilt swim in that live bath, Each fish, which every channel hath, Will amorously to thee swim, Gladder to catch thee, than thou him. If thou, to be so seen, be'st loth, By sun or moon, thou darken'st both And if myself have leave to see, I need not their light, having thee. Let others freeze with angling reeds, And cut their legs with shells and weeds Or treacherously poor fish beset, With strangling snare or windowy net. Let coarse bold hands from slimy nest The bedded fish in banks out-wrest; Or curious traitors, sleave-silk flies, Bewitch poor fishes' wand'ring eyes. For thee, thou need'st no such deceit, For thou thyself art thine own bait: That fish, that is not catch'd thereby, Alas, is wiser far than I.

The Ragged Wood by William Butler Yeats

O, hurry, where by water, among the trees, The delicate-stepping stag and his lady sigh, When they have looked upon their images Would none had ever loved but you and I! Or have you heard that sliding silver-shoed Pale silver-proud queen-woman of the sky, When the sun looked out of his golden hood? O, that none ever loved but you and I! O hurry to the ragged wood, for there I will drive all those lovers out and cry O, my share of the world, O, yellow hair! No one has ever loved but you and I.

To the Virgins, Make Much of Time by Robert Herrick

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old time is still a-flying, And this same flower that smiles today, To-morrow will be dying. The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, The higher he's a-getting, The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he's to setting. That age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse and worst Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time, and while ye may, go marry; For having lost just once your prime, You may for ever tarry.

Gone by Carl Sandburg

Everybody loved Chick Lorimer in our town, Far off Everybody loved her. So we all love a wild girl keeping a hold On a dream she wants. Nobody knows now where Chick Lorimer went. Nobody knows why she packed her trunk. A few old things... and is gone. One with her little chin Thrust ahead of her And her soft hair blowing careless From under a wide hat, Dancer, singer, a laughing passionate lover. Were there ten men or a hundred hunting Chick? Were there five men or fifty with aching hearts? Everybody loved Chick Lorimer. Nobody knows where she's gone.

Upon Julia's Clothes

by Robert Herrick

Whenas in silks my Julia goes, Then, then, methinks, how sweetly flows The liquefaction of her clothes. Next, when I cast mine eyes, and see That brave vibration, each way free, Oh, how that glittering taketh me!

I Lost A World by Emily Dickinson

I lost a world the other day. Has anybody found? You?ll know it by the row of stars Around its forehead bound. A rich man might not notice it; Yet to my frugal eye Of more esteem than ducats. Oh, find it, Sir, for me!

Untitled by Unknown (13th Century)

There are little traits that keep me bound... I think of nothing else save the bright face of my ladyAh me! Her swan-white throat, her strong chin,

Her fresh laughing mouth which daily seems to say, "Come kiss me, love, kiss me once again! Her regal nose, her smiling grey eyes(That thieve to steal a lovers heart)And her brown tresses that wildly fly. Each have wounded me as with a dart So amorous are these that I deem they will slay me. Ah God, ah God! Alas, who will save me?

Rose Aylmer by Walter Savage Landor

Ah, what avails the sceptred race; Ah, what the form divine. What every virtue, every grace, Rose Aylmer, all were thine. Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes May weep, but never see; A night of memories and of sighs I consecrate to thee.

You Left Me by Emily Dickinson

You left me, sweet, two legacies, A legacy of love A Heavenly Father would content,

Had He the offer of; You left me boundaries of pain Capacious as the sea, Between eternity and time, Your consciousness and me.

Wild Nights by Emily Dickinson

Wild nights. Wild nights! Were I with thee, Wild nights should be Our luxury! Futile the winds To a heart in port Done with the compass Done with the chart. Rowing in Eden. Ah, the sea. Might I but moor Tonight with thee!

How Do I Love Thee? by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of everyday's Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints,--I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life!--and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.

Eulalie by Edgar Allen Poe

I dwelt alone In a world of moan And my soul was a stagnant tide Till the fair and gentle Eulalie became my blushing brideTill the yellow-haired young Eulalie became my smiling bride. Ah, less-- less bright Are the stars of night Than the eyes of the radiant girl! And never a flake That the vapor can make

With the moon-tints of purple and pearl, Can vie with the modest Eulalie's most unregarded curlCan compare with the bright-eyed Eulalie's most humble and careless curl. Now Doubt-- now Pain Come never again, For her soul gives me sigh for sigh And all day long Shines, bright and strong, Astarte within the sky, While ever to her dear Eulalie upturns her matron eyeWhile ever to her young Eulalie upturns her violet eye.

Come Slowly by Emily Dickinson

Come slowly, Eden Lips unused to thee. Bashful, sip thy jasmines, As the fainting bee, Reaching late his flower, Round her chamber hums, Counts his nectars -alights,

And is lost in balms!My True Love Has My Heart by Philip Sidney

My true-love hath my heart and I have his, By just exchange one for the other given; I hold his dear and mine he cannot miss; There never was a better bargain driven. My true-love hath my heart and I have his, His heart in me keeps him and me in one; My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides; He loves my heart for once it was his own, I cherish his because in me it bides. My true-love hath my heart and I have his,

I Loved You by Alexander Pushkin

I loved youeven now I may confess Some embers of my love their fire retain But do not let it cause you more distressI do not want to sadden you again. Hopeless and tongue-tied, yet, I loved you dearly With pangs the jealous the timid know So tenderly I loved you, so sincerely, I pray God grant another love you so.

I Never Lost As Much by Emily Dickinson

I never lost as much but twice, And that was in the sod. Twice have I stood a beggar Before the door of God! Angels, twice descending, Reimbursed my store. Burglar, banker, father, I am poor once more!

To a Stranger by Walt Whitman

Passing stranger! you do not know How longingly I look upon you, You must be he I was seeking, Or she I was seeking (It comes to me as a dream) I have somewhere surely Lived a life of joy with you, All is recall'd as we flit by each other, Fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured, You grew up with me, Were a boy with me or a girl with me, I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become

not yours only nor left my body mine only, You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh as we pass, You take of my beard, breast, hands, in return, I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or wake at night, alone I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

To One in Paradise by Edgar Allen Poe

Thou wast that all to me, love, For which my soul did pine-A green isle in the sea, love, A fountain and a shrine, All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers And all the flowers were mine. Ah, dream too bright to last! Ah, starry Hope! that didst arise But to be overcast! A voice from out the Future cries, On! on!-- but o'er the Past (Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies Mute, motionless, aghast! For, alas! alas! with me

The light of Life is o'er! 'No more-- no more-- no more--' (Such language holds the solemn sea To the sands upon the shore) Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree Or the stricken eagle soar! And all my days are trances And all my nightly dreams Are where thy dark eye glances And where thy footstep gleams-In what ethereal dances, By what eternal streams.

Love And A Question by Robert Frost

A stranger came to the door at eve, And he spoke the bridegroom fair. He bore a green-white stick in his hand, And, for all burden, care. He asked with the eyes more than the lips For a shelter for the night, And he turned and looked at the road afar Without a window light. The bridegroom came forth into the porch With, "Let us look at the sky, And question what of the night to be, Stranger, you and I."

The woodbine leaves littered the yard, The woodbine berries were blue, Autumn, yes, winter was in the wind; "Stranger, I wish I knew." Within, the bride in the dusk alone Bent over the open fire, Her face rose-red with the glowing coal And the thought of the heart's desire. The bridegroom looked at the weary road, Yet saw but her within, And wished her heart in a case of gold And pinned with a silver pin. The bridegroom thought it little to give A dole of bread, a purse, A heartfelt prayer for the poor of God, Or for the rich a curse; But whether or not a man was asked To mar the love of two by harboring woe in the bridal house, The bridegroom wished he knew.

A wounded deer leaps highest by Emily Dickinson

A wounded deer leaps highest, I've heard the hunter tell; 'Tis but the ecstasy of death, And then the brake is still.

The smitten rock that gushes, The trampled steel that springs: A cheek is always redder Just where the hectic stings! Mirth is mail of anguish, In which its cautious arm Lest anybody spy the blood And, "you're hurt" exclaim

The Lake by Edgar Allen Poe

In spring of youth it was my lot To haunt of the wide world a spot The which I could not love the less-So lovely was the loneliness, Of a wild lake, with black rock bound And the tall pines that towered around. But when the Night had thrown her pall Upon that spot, as upon all, And the mystic wind went by Murmuring in melody-Then- ah then I would awake To the terror of the lone lake. Yet, that terror was not fright But a tremulous delight-A feeling not the jewelled mine Could teach or bribe me to define--

Nor Love- although the Love were thine. Death was in that poisonous wave And in its gulf a fitting grave For him who thence could solace bring To his lone imagining-Whose solitary soul could make An Eden of that dim lake.

I Sing by Emily Dickinson

I sing to use the waiting My bonnet but to tie, And close the door unto my house No more to do have I 'Till his best step approaching, We journey to the day, And tell each other how we sung To keep the Dark away.

Reluctance by Robert Frost

Out through the fields and the woods And over the walls I have wended; I have climbed the hills of view And looked at the world, and descended;

I have come by the highway home, And lo, it is ended. The leaves are all dead on the ground, Save those that the oak is keeping To ravel them one by one And let them go scraping and creeping Out over the crusted snow, When others are sleeping. And the dead leaves lie huddled and still, No longer blown hither and thither; The last lone aster is gone; The flowers of the witch hazel wither; The heart is still aching to seek, But the feet question "Whither?" Ah, when to the heart of man Was it ever less than a treason To go with the drift of things, To yield with a grace to reason, And bow and accept the end Of a love or a season?

My Pretty Rose Tree by William Blake

A flower was offered to me: Such a flower as May never bore. But I said "I've a Pretty Rose-tree", And I passed the sweet flower o'er.

Then I went to my Pretty Rose-tree: To tend her by day and by night. But my Rose turn'd away with jealousy: And her thorns were my only delight.

The Grave by Emily Dickinson

The grave my little cottage is, Where, keeping house for thee, I make my parlor orderly, And lay the marble tea, For two divided, briefly, A cycle, it may be, 'Till everlasting life unite In strong society.

To Earthward by Robert Frost

Love at the lips was touch As sweet as I could bear; And once that seemed too much; I lived on air That crossed me from sweet things, The flow of - was it musk From hidden grapevine springs

Down hill at dusk? I had the swirl and ache From sprays of honeysuckle That when they're gathered shake Dew on the knuckle. I craved strong sweets, but those Seemed strong when I was young; The petal of the rose It was that stung. Now no joy but lacks salt That is not dashed with pain And weariness and fault; I crave the stain Of tears, the aftermark Of almost too much love, The sweet of bitter bark And burning clove. When stiff and sore and scarred I take away my hand From leaning on it hard In grass and sand, The hurt is not enough: I long for weight and strength To feel the earth as rough To all my length.

Beauty and Love by Andrew Young

Beauty and love are all my dream; They change not with the changing day; Love stays forever like a stream That flows but never flows away; And beauty is the bright sun-bow That blossoms on the spray that showers Where the loud water falls below, Making a wind among the flowers.

Young and Old by Charles Kingsely

When all the world is young, lad, And all the trees are green And every goose a swan, lad, And every lass a queen; Then hey for boot and horse, lad, And 'round the world away Young blood must have its course, lad, And every dog his day. When all the world is old, lad, And all the trees are brown And all the sport is stale, lad, And all the wheels run down Creep home and take your place there The spent and maimed among God grant you find one face there

You loved when all was young.

The Dream by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Love, if I weep it will not matter, And if you laugh I shall not care; Foolish am I to think about it, But it is good to feel you there. Love, in my sleep I dreamed of waking, White and awful the moonlight reached Over the floor, and somewhere, somewhere There was a shutter loose- it screeched! Swung in the wind- and no wind blowingI was afraid and turned to you, Put out my hand to you for comfortAnd you were gone! Cold as the dew, Under my hand the moonlight lay! Love, if you laugh I shall not care, But if I weep it will not matterAh, it is good to feel you there.

Soon, O Ianthe! by Walter Savage Landor

Soon, O Ianthe! life is o'er, And sooner beauty's heavenly smile:

Grant only (and I ask no more), Let love remain that little while.

She Comes Not by Herbert Trench

She comes not when Noon is on the roses-Too bright is Day. She comes not to the Soul till it reposes From work and play. But when Night is on the hills, and the great Voices Roll in from Sea, By starlight and candle-light and dreamlight She comes to me.

Still to be Neat by Ben Jonson

Still to be neat, still to be drest, As you were going to a feast; Still to be powder'd, still perfum'd: Lady, it is to be presum'd, Though art's hid causes are not found, All is not sweet, all is not sound. Give me a look, give me a face, That make simplicity a grace; Robes loosely flowing, hair as free:

Such sweet neglect more taketh me Than all th'adulteries of art. They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.

The Bait by John Donne

Come live with me and be my love And we will some new pleasures prove Of golden sands and crystal brooks, With silken lines and silver hooks. There will the river- whispering run Warmed by thy eyes more than the sun And there th' enamoured fish will stay, Begging themselves they may betray. When thou wilt swim in that live bath, Each fish, which every channel hath, Will amorously to thee swim, Gladder to catch thee, than thou him. If thou, to be so seen, be'st loth, By sun or moon, thou darken'st both And if myself have leave to see, I need not their light, having thee. Let others freeze with angling reeds, And cut their legs with shells and weeds Or treacherously poor fish beset, With strangling snare or windowy net. Let coarse bold hands from slimy nest

The bedded fish in banks out-wrest; Or curious traitors, sleave-silk flies, Bewitch poor fishes' wand'ring eyes. For thee, thou need'st no such deceit, For thou thyself art thine own bait: That fish, that is not catch'd thereby, Alas, is wiser far than I.

Mild Is The Parting Year by Walter Savage Landor

Mild is the parting year and sweet The odour of the falling spray; Life passes on more rudely fleet, And balmless is its closing day. I wait its close, I court its gloom, But mourn that never must there fall; Or on my breast or on my tomb The tear that would have soothed it all.

Never Blows So Red by Omar Khayyam

I sometimes think that never blows so red The rose as where some buried Caesar bled. That every hyacinth the garden wears; Dropt in her lap from some once lovely head.

Rose Aylmer by Walter Savage Landor

Ah, what avails the sceptred race; Ah, what the form divine. What every virtue, every grace, Rose Aylmer, all were thine. Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes May weep, but never see; A night of memories and of sighs I consecrate to thee.

The Rose of Sharon by Solomon

I am the rose of Sharon, and the lily of the valleys. As the lily among thorns, so is my love among the daughters. As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons. I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste. He brought me to the banqueting house, and his banner over me was love. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples:

for I am sick of love. His left hand is under my head, and his right hand doth embrace me. I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, by the roes, and by the hinds of the field... that ye stir not up, nor awake my love... till he please.

The Rose in the Deeps of his Heart by William Butler Yeats

All things uncomely and broken, all things worn-out and old, The cry of a child by the roadway, the creak of a lumbering cart, The heavy steps of the ploughman, splashing the wintry mould, Are wronging your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart. The wrong of unshapely things is a wrong too great to be told; I hunger to build them anew and sit on a green knoll apart, With the earth and the sky and the water, remade, like a casket of gold For my dreams of your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart.

Ah, My Beloved by Omar Khayyam

Ah, my beloved, fill the cup that clears Today of past regrets and future fears; Tomorrow? Why, tomorrow I may be, Myself, with yesterday's sev'n thousand years.

Sonnets from the Portuguese, XIV by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

If thou must love me, let it be for nought Except for love's sake only. Do not say 'I love her for her smile--her look--her way Of speaking gently,--for a trick of thought That falls in well with mine, and certes brought A sense of pleasant ease on such a day For these things in themselves, Beloved, may Be changed, or change for thee,--and love, so wrought, May be unwrought so. Neither love me for Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry, A creature might forget to weep, who bore Thy comfort long, and lose thy love, thereby! But love me for love's sake, that evermore Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity.

A Magic Moment I Remember by Alexander Pushkin

A magic moment I remember: I raised my eyes and you were there. A fleeting vision, the quintessence Of all that's beautiful and rare. I pray to mute despair and anguish To vain pursuits the world esteems, Long did I near your soothing accents, Long did your features haunt my dreams. Time passed- A rebel storm-blast scattered The reveries that once were mine And I forgot your soothing accents, Your features gracefully divine. In dark days of enforced retirement I gazed upon grey skies above With no ideals to inspire me, No one to cry for, live for, love. Then came a moment of renaissance, I looked up- you again are there, A fleeting vision, the quintessence Of all that`s beautiful and rare.

I Lost A World by Emily Dickinson

I lost a world the other day. Has anybody found? You?ll know it by the row of stars Around its forehead bound. A rich man might not notice it; Yet to my frugal eye Of more esteem than ducats. Oh, find it, Sir, for me!

Farewell to Love by Michael Drayton

Since there's not help, come let us kiss and part; Nay, I am done, you get no more of me; And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart, That thus so cleanly I myself can free; Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows, And when we meet at any time again, Be it not seen in either of our brows That we, one jot of former love retain. Now, at the last gasp of love's latest breath, When his pulse failing, passion speechless lies, When faith is kneeling by his bed of death, And innocence is closing up his eyes, Now, if thou woulds't, when all have given him over, From death to life Thou might'st him yet recover.

Happiness by Carl Sandburg

I asked professors who teach the meaning of life to tell me, what is happiness. And I went to famous executives who boss the work of thousands of men. They all shook their heads and gave me a smile, as though I was trying to fool with them. And then one Sunday afternoon I wandered out along the Des Plaines River And I saw a crowd of Hungarians under the trees with their women and children and a keg of beer and an accordion.

The Heart Asks by Emily Dickinson

The heart asks pleasure first And then, excuse from pain; And then those little anodynes That deaden suffering, And then to go to sleep And then, if it should be, The will of its Inquisitor The liberty to die!

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Presented by Me and Literature