by Walt Whitman I was asking for something specific and perfect for my city， Whereupon lo！ upsprang the aboriginal name. Now I see what there is in a ...
by Lola Haskins He is rid away to the tenant farms and I take up my pen to list the shakings-out and openings. And my thin letters lean as sails that，...
by Sarah Josepha Hale Mary had a little lamb， Its fleece was white as snow； And everywhere that Mary went， The lamb was sure to go. Hefollowed her to ...
by John Ashbery What the bad news was became apparent too late for us to do anything good about it. I was offered no urgent dreaming， didn't need ...
by Charles Reznikoff I New Year's The solid houses in the mist are thin as tissue paper； the water laps slowly at the rocks； and the ducks from th...
by Frieda Hughes She is the gypsy Whose young have rooted In the very flesh of her scalp. Her eyes are drill-holes where Your senses spin， and you are...
by Durs Grünbein （Translated by Michael Hofmann） Everything continues much as before， especially the war， But also the daily dressing and undress...
by Robert Frost Something there is that doesn't love a wall， That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it， And spills the upper boulders in the sun...
by Kim Addonizio Damp-haired from the bath， you drape yourself upside down across the sofa， reading， one hand idly sunk into a bowl of crackers， goldf...
by Ovid THUS Achelous ends： his audience hear With admiration， and admiring， fear The pow'rs of heav'n； except Ixion's son， Who laugh'...