by Roberta J. Hill These are notes to lightning in my bedroom. A star forged from linen thread and patches. Purple， yellow， red like diamond suckers， ...
by Gerard Manley Hopkins Margaret， are you grieving Over Goldengrove unleaving？ Leaves， like the things of man， you With your fresh thoughts care for，...
by William Carlos Williams By the road to the contagious hospital under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast-a cold wind. Be...
by Charles Baudelaire Translated by Richard Howard （I） February， peeved at Paris， pours a gloomy torrent on the pale lessees of the graveyard next doo...
by Walt Whitman...
by Maggie Nelson The spirit of Jane lives on in you， my mother says trying to describe who I am. I feel like the girl in the late-night movie who gaze...
by Emily Bront The night is darkening round me， The wild winds coldly blow； But a tyrant spell has bound me And I cannot， cannot go. The giant trees a...
by Jean Follain Translated by W. S. Merwin It happens that one pronounces a few words just for oneself alone on this strange earth then the small whit...
by Mary Rose O'Reilley I go to church every Sunday though I don‘t believe a word of it， because the longing for God is a prayer said in the ...
by Gaius Valerius Catullus Translated by David Mulroy Sparrow， the special delight of my girl， whom often she teases and holds on her lap and pokes wi...