poems
runes of rhyme
(26 - 40 of 40 total)
- Road Not Taken by Robert Frost
- Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Thoug...
- Rules and Regulations by Lewis Carroll
- A short direction To avoid dejection, By variations In occupations, And prolongation Of relaxation, And combinations Of recreations, And disputation On the state of the nation In adaptation To your station, By invitations To friends and relations, By evitation Of amputation, By permutation In con...
- Self-pity by DH Lawrence
- I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.
- Solitude by Lewis Carroll
- I love the stillness of the wood: I love the music of the rill: I love to couch in pensive mood Upon some silent hill. Scarce heard, beneath you arching trees, The silver-crested ripples pass; And, like a mimic brook, the breeze Whispers among the grass. Here from the world I win release, Nor s...
- Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost
- Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village, though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year. He gives his ...
- The Ant by Ogden Nash
- The ant has made herself illustrious By constant industry industrious. So what? Would you be calm and placid If you were full of formic acid?
- The centipede by Ogden Nash
- I objurgate the centipede, A bug we do not really need.
- The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot
- S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse A persona che mai tornasse al mondo, Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse. Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo Non torno vivo alcun, s'i'odo il vero, Senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo. LET us go then, you and I, When the evening is...
- The Rainy Day by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
- The day is cold, and dark, and dreary It rains, and the wind is never weary; The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, But at every gust the dead leaves fall, And the day is dark and dreary. My life is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind is never weary; My thoughts...
- THE ROAD AND THE END by Carl Sandburg
- I SHALL foot it Down the roadway in the dusk, Where shapes of hunger wander And the fugitives of pain go by. I shall foot it In the silence of the morning, See the night slur into dawn, Hear the slow great winds arise Where tall trees flank the way And shoulder toward the sky. The broken boulder...
- The Silken Tent by Robert Frost
- She is as in a field a silken tent At midday when a sunny summer breeze Has dried the dew and all its ropes relent, So that in guys it gently sways at ease, And its supporting central cedar pole, That is its pinnacle to heavenward And signifies the sureness of the soul, Seems to owe naught to any...
- The Thinker by Berton Braley
- By which the steel is wrought, Back of the workshop's clamor The seeker may find the Thought, The Thought that is ever master Of iron and steam and steel, That rises above disaster And tramples it under heel! The drudge may fret and tinker Or labor with lusty blows, But back of him stands the Th...
- Tranquility Base by Ron Havens
- "Tranquility Base here," said the man in the moon, How quickly he flew there, the dream came so soon. "Tranquility Base here," that's how it was then, How quickly he's flown, just a dream once again.
- Very like a Whale by Ogden Nash
- One thing that literature would be greatly the better for Would be a more restricted employment by authors of simile and metaphor. Authors of all races, be they Greeks, Romans, Teutons or Celts, Can'ts seem just to say that anything is the thing it is but have to go out of their way to say tha...
- WHO AM I? by Carl Sandburg
- MY head knocks against the stars. My feet are on the hilltops. My finger-tips are in the valleys and shores of universal life. Down in the sounding foam of primal things I reach my hands and play with pebbles of destiny. I have been to hell and back many times. I know all about hea...
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