by George Scarbrough Always in transit we were always temporarily in exile， each new place seeming after a while and for a while our home. Because no ...
by Deborah Digges It fell to me to tell the bees， though I had wanted another duty— to be the scribbler at his death， there chart the third day&...
by John Greenleaf Whittier The sun that brief December day Rose cheerless over hills of gray， And， darkly circled， gave at noon A sadder light than wa...
by Robert Penn Warren [ A ] Long ago， in Kentucky， I， a boy， stood By a dirt road， in first dark， and heard The great geese hoot northward. I could no...
by George Gordon， Lord Byron I stood in Venice， on the Bridge of Sighs， A palace and a prison on each hand： I saw from out the wave her structures ris...
by Lord Alfred Tennyson Tears， idle tears， I know not what they mean， Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart， and gather to the...
by Joanie Mackowski Two wandering across the porcelain Siberia， one alone on the window sill， four across the ceiling's senseless field of pale ye...
by Louise Bogan All night the cocks crew， under a moon like day， And I， in the cage of sleep， on a stranger's breast， Shed tears， like a task not ...
by Charles Reznikoff Not because of victories I sing， having none， but for the common sunshine， the breeze， the largess of the spring. Not for victory...
by Lorna Dee Cervantes Las casitas near the gray cannery， nestled amid wild abrazos of climbing roses and man-high red geraniums are gone now. The fre...