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Robert Frost

Hyla Brook By June our brook’s run out of song and speed. Sought for much after that, it will be found Either to have gone groping underground (And taken with it all the Hyla breed That shouted in the mist a month ago, Like ghost of sleigh bells in a ghost of snow)— Or flourished… Continue reading Robert Frost

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Robert Frost

Why make so much of fragmentary blue In here and there a bird, or butterfly, Or flower, or wearing-stone, or open eye, When heaven presents in sheets the solid hue? Since earth is earth, perhaps, not heaven (as yet)— Though some savants make earth include the sky; And blue so far above us comes so… Continue reading Robert Frost

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Walt Whitman

Here the frailest leaves of me, and yet my strongest-lasting: Here I shade and hide my thoughts—I myself do not expose them, And yet they expose me more than all my other poems. — Walt Whitman, “Here the Frailest Leaves of Me,” Leaves of Grass. Originally published: July 4, 1855

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Walt Whitman

This is what you shall do: Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to everyone that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing… Continue reading Walt Whitman

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American Culture · American Literature · Anthology · Classic · Collection · Colloquial Speech · Compilation · Modernism · Poetry · Traditionalism

Robert Frost

My November Guest My Sorrow, when she’s here with me,     Thinks these dark days of autumn rain Are beautiful as days can be; She loves the bare, the withered tree;     She walked the sodden pasture lane. Her pleasure will not let me stay.     She talks and I am fain to list: She’s… Continue reading Robert Frost

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