by Sir Walter Scott He is gone on the mountain， He is lost to the forest， Like a summer-dried fountain， When our need was the sorest. The font reappea...
by Richard Wilbur In her room at the prow of the house Where light breaks， and the windows are tossed with linden， My daughter is writing a story. I p...
by Paul Verlaine （Translated by Louis Simpson） High-heels were struggling with a full-length dress So that， between the wind and the terrain， At times...
by Spencer Reece I was a full-time house sitter. I had no title. I lived in a farmhouse， on a small hill， surrounded by 100 acres. All was still. The ...
by Douglas Goetsch I'd walk close to buildings counting bricks， run my finger in the grout till it grew hot and numb. Bricks in a row， rows on a f...
by Natasha Trethewey You can get there from here， though there's no going home. Everywhere you go will be somewhere you've never been. Try thi...
by Sara Teasdale There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground， And swallows circling with their shimmering sound； And frogs in the pools sin...
by John Montague There are days when one should be able to pluck off one's head like a dented or worn helmet， straight from the nape and collarbon...
by Emily Dickinson There's a certain Slant of light， Winter Afternoons That oppresses， like the Heft Of Cathedral Tunes Heavenly Hurt， it gives us...
by Thomas Wyatt They flee from me， that sometime did me seek， With naked foot stalking in my chamber. I have seen them， gentle， tame， and meek， That n...