Hyperion by John Keats

Deep in the shady sadness of a vale Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn, Far from the fiery noon, and eve's one star, Sat gray-hair'd Saturn, quiet as a stone, Still as the silence round about his lair; Forest on forest hung about his head Like cloud on cloud. No stir of air was there, Not so much life as on a summer's day Robs not one light seed from the feather'd grass, But where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest. A stream went voiceless by, still deadened more By reason of his fallen divinity Spreading a shade: the Naiad 'mid her reeds Press'd her cold finger closer to her lips...

Ode to the Cat by Pablo Neruda

The animals were imperfect, long-tailed, unfortunate in their heads. Little by little they put themselves together, making themselves a landscape, acquiring spots, grace, flight. The cat, only the cat appeared complete and proud: he was born completely finished, walking alone and knowing what he wanted...

Renascence by Edna St Vincent Millay

ALL I could see from where I stood Was three long mountains and a wood; I turned and looked the other way, And saw three islands in a bay. So with my eyes I traced the line Of the horizon, thin and fine, Straight around till I was come Back to where I’d started from; And all I saw from where I stood Was three long mountains and a wood. Over these things I could not see: These were the things that bounded me...

The Amen Stone by Yehuda Amichai

On my desk there is a stone with the word “Amen” on it, a triangular fragment of stone from a Jewish graveyard destroyed many generations ago. The other fragments, hundreds upon hundreds, were scattered helter-skelter, and a great yearning, a longing without end, fills them all: first name in search of family name, date of death seeks...

Mazeppa by George Gordon Byron

'Twas after dread Pultowa's day, When fortune left the royal Swede-- Around a slaughtered army lay, No more to combat and to bleed. The power and glory of the war, Faithless as their vain votaries, men, Had passed to the triumphant Czar, And Moscow’s walls were safe again-- Until a day more dark and drear, And a more memorable year, Should give to slaughter and to shame A mightier host and haughtier name; A greater wreck, a deeper fall, A shock to one--a thunderbolt to all...

Behind the Scenes by Banjo Paterson

The actor struts his little hour, Between the limelight and the band; The public feel the actor's power, Yet nothing do they understand Of all the touches here and there That make or mar the actor's part, They never see, beneath the glare, The artist striving after art. To them it seems a labour slight Where nought of study intervenes; You see it in another light When once you've been behind the scenes...

When by Jack Hirschman

When I saw in the council chambers of the big city the mouths of the council members opening and coming down on the fat sandwiches that'd been delivered to their places, coming down and chewing and leaning over talking with half-stuffed mouths, or heads thrown back laughing, their bellies chortling, and all the while one after another homeless person stood not far from them but far enough from them before a microphone requesting help for their most basic human wounds, protesting against a syndrome without alternatives except for skid-row hotels or a concentration camp in the downtown desert; –...

Plain Old Fun

It appeared inside our classroom at a quarter after ten, it gobbled up the blackboard, three erasers and a pen. It gobbled teacher's apple and it bopped her with the core. “How dare you!” she responded. “You must leave us . . . there's the door.”...

Ode to a Nightingale by John Keats

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness,— That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease...

La Priere de Nostre Dame by Geoffrey Chaucer

All-potent Queen, whose mercies never cease, From whom the world seeks at its darkest hour For balm in sorrow, and from sin release; Virgin all-glorious, of all flowers the Flower, To thee, when clouds of error round me lower, I flee — thou Quintessence of Courtesie; Lest, in my perilous languor, by his power My cruel adversary vanquish me...

Porphyria’s Lover by Robert Browning

The rain set early in to-night, The sullen wind was soon awake, It tore the elm-tops down for spite, And did its worst to vex the lake: I listened with heart fit to break. When glided in Porphyria; straight She shut the cold out and the storm, And kneeled and made the cheerless grate Blaze up, and all the cottage warm,,,

Up the Country by Henry Lawson

I am back from up the country — very sorry that I went — Seeking for the Southern poets' land whereon to pitch my tent; I have lost a lot of idols, which were broken on the track, Burnt a lot of fancy verses, and I'm glad that I am back. Further out may be the pleasant scenes of which our poets boast, But I think the country's rather more inviting round the coast. Anyway, I'll stay at present at a boarding-house in town, Drinking beer and lemon-squashes, taking baths and cooling down...

Ode on Melancholy by John Keats

Ode on Melancholy1819 No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twistWolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss'dBy nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;Make not your rosary of yew-berries,Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth beYour mournful Psyche, nor the downy owlA partner in your sorrow's mysteries;For shade to shade will … Continue reading Ode on Melancholy by John Keats