With, by Shay Cook
Every autumn I stand at the river bank,
Watch...
Animal Poems
Suicide in the Trenches, by Siegfried Sassoon
I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at lif...
Her Reply, by Sir Walter Raleigh
If all the world and love were young,
And tru...
An Hour with Thee, by Sir Walter Scott
An hour with thee! When earliest day
Dapples w...
Flora and Fauna Send Me Love Letters, by Skye Vaillancourt
She plucks petunias from her pupils,
watches...
Agamemnon's Vengeance, by Sophocles
Chorus from Electra I If wisdom fail me not, ...
Antigone in Her Tomb, by Sophocles
O tomb, my bridal chamber, vaulted home.
Gua...
Battle of Two Brothers, by Sophocles
Chorus from Antigone I O light of yon bright ...
Chorus from Ajax, by Sophocles
Fair Salamis, the billow's roar
Wanders aroun...
Electra's Song, by Sophocles
O holy light of day,
And air with earth comme...
Kyprian Queen, by Sophocles
Not Kyprian only, children, is she called,
...
The Life of Woman, by Sophocles
I by myself am nought; yea, oftentimes
So loo...
Man, by Sophocles
Chorus from Antigone I Many the forms of life...
Old Age and Youth, by Sophocles
Chorus from Oedipus at Colonus What man is he ...
Song of Philoctetes, by Sophocles
Chorus from Philoctetes I O cave of hollow ro...
Poem For a Girl (Who Is Also a Birch Tree), by Stanley Gemmell
Cross hatched with pollen
Arms sensually akimb...
The Young Glory, by Stanley Gemmell
I Orb, my heart's mercy to my heart
Quick an...
Jesus Before Pilate, by Stephen Greenleaf Bulfinch
I In Pilate's hall, by scornful Pharisees
Su...
Morning, by Stephen Greenleaf Bulfinch
Now comes forth the glorious day
Like a brideg...
New England, by Stephen Greenleaf Bulfinch
Oh who upon his lips could lay
The seal of cau...
Lohengrin, by Stuart Merrill
WHILE heralds are unfolding, hot with haste,
...
The Maiden at the Fountain, by Stuart Merrill
LOVE'S daughters bend above the silent source, ...
When Marjoram Dies, by Stuart Merrill
WHEN marjoram dies, in winds that blow,
And ...
The White Peacock, by Stuart Merrill
THE white peacock in the blue night crying
Fee...
The Window, by Stéphane Mallarmé
TIRED of the fetid smell that climbs and sticks...