American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Collection · Lyricism · Poetry · Sensual · Traditionalism

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

You are the moon, dear love, and I the sea: The tide of hope swells high within my breast, And hides the rough dark rocks of life’s unrest When your fond eyes smile near in perigee. But when that loving face is turned from me, Low falls the tide, and the grim rocks appear, And… Continue reading Ella Wheeler Wilcox

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Ballad · British Culture · Classic · Collection · English Literature · Excerpt · Lyricism · Passage · Poetry · Romanticism

William Wordsworth

I heard a thousand blended notes, While in a grove I sate reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did nature link The human soul that through me ran; And much it griev’d my heart to think What man has made of man. —… Continue reading William Wordsworth

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Eugénio de Andrade

We’ve worn our words to death, when now I say: my love, nothing happens, absolutely nothing. And yet, before the words were spent, I’m certain that everything trembled at the mere murmur of your name in the silence of my heart. Now we have nothing to give. There is nothing within you that asks me… Continue reading Eugénio de Andrade

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Algerian Culture · American Literature · Americana · Anthology · Classic · Collection · Colloquial Speech · Compilation · Lyricism · Modernism · Poetry · Rhymed Stanza · Traditionalism

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 … Continue reading Robert Frost

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Anthology · British Culture · British Literature · Classic · Collection · Excerpt · Fragment · Irish Culture · Irish Literary Renaissance · Irish Literary Revival · Irish Literature · Lyricism · Modernism · Poetry · Romanticism · Symbolism

W. B. Yeats

I broke my heart in two So hard I struck. What matter? for I know That out of rock, Out of a desolate source, Love leaps upon its course. — W. B. Yeats, from “His Confidence” in “Words for Music Perhaps,” The Winding Stair and Other Poems (Macmillan, 1933)

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American Culture · American Literature · Anthology · Classic · Collection · Excerpt · Fireside Poet · Lyricism · Passage · Poetry · Rhymed Stanza · Romanticism

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  And the days are dark and dreary.               Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;     Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;     Thy fate is the common fate of all,     Into each life some rain must fall,         Some days must be dark and dreary. — Henry… Continue reading Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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