On Berenice's Hair, by Catullus
Conon, who hath observed the mighty skies,
W...
Bear Poems
On Mamurra and Caesar, by Catullus
Well matched are seen that infamous pair
Mamur...
The Parting Message to Lesbia, by Catullus
Companions, who would gladly go
With me throu...
To Juventius, by Catullus
A kiss in sport I once did snatch,
Juventius,...
Varus and His Mistress, by Catullus
As I was idling time away
Just by the Forum t'...
Episode in Grey, by Conrad Aiken
I So, to begin with, dust blows down the str...
Innocence, by Conrad Aiken
The little leaves that climbed so high
Are blo...
Sonata in Pathos, by Conrad Aiken
I Well, I am tired.. Tired of all these years...
Apology, by Amy Lowell
Be not angry with me that I bear
...
The Basket, by Amy Lowell
I The inkstand is full of ink, and the paper ...
A Fairy Tale, by Amy Lowell
On winter nights beside the nursery fire
We re...
The Forsaken, by Amy Lowell
Holy Mother of God, Merciful Mary. Hear me! I ...
Funeral Song for the Indian Chief Blackbird, by Amy Lowell
BURIED SITTING UPRIGHT ON A LIVE HORSE ON A BLU...
The Great Adventure of Max Breuck, by Amy Lowell
1 A yellow band of light upon the street
Pour...
Off the Turnpike, by Amy Lowell
Good ev'nin', Mis' Priest.
I jest stepped in ...
On Carpaccio's Picture: The Dream of St. Ursula, by Amy Lowell
Swept, clean, and still, across the polished...
Pickthorn Manor, by Amy Lowell
I How fresh the Dartle's little waves that day...
The Shadow, by Amy Lowell
Paul Jannes was working very late,
For this w...
Suggested by the Cover of a Volume of Keats's Poems, by Amy Lowell
Wild little bird, who chose thee for a sign
T...
A Tale of Starvation, by Amy Lowell
There once was a man whom the gods didn't love,...
The Way, by Amy Lowell
At first a mere thread of a footpath half blott...
To a Youth Who Wooed a Woman Older than Himself, by Sappho
Friend, woo me not so earnestly.
&nbs...
Ballade de la Jolie Marion, by Aleister Crowley
It is a sweet thing to be loved,
Although my ...
Rondels, by Aleister Crowley
I Maid of dark eyes, that glow with shy sweet...
To A. D., by Aleister Crowley
Across the sea that lies between us twain
I ga...