Except to Heaven, by Emily Dickinson
Except to heaven, she is nought;
Except for ...
Bee Poems
If You Were Coming in the Fall, by Emily Dickinson
IF you were coming in the fall,
I'd brush the...
Indian Summer, by Emily Dickinson
These are the days when birds come back,
A ve...
I Taste a Liquor Never Brewed, by Emily Dickinson
I taste a liquor never brewed,
From tankards ...
A Little Road Not Made of Man, by Emily Dickinson
A little road not made of man,
Enabled of the...
The Nearest Dream Recedes, by Emily Dickinson
The nearest dream recedes, unrealized.
The he...
The Pedigree of Honey, by Emily Dickinson
The pedigree of honey
Does not concern the bee...
Purple Clover, by Emily Dickinson
There is a flower that bees prefer,
And butte...
Safe In Their Alabaster Chambers, by Emily Dickinson
Safe in their alabaster chambers,
Untouched b...
The Secret, by Emily Dickinson
Some things that fly there be, --
Birds, hou...
Two Worlds, by Emily Dickinson
It makes no difference abroad,
The seasons fi...
Why?, by Emily Dickinson
THE murmur of a bee
A witchcraft yieldeth me.
...
A Pretty Woman, by Robert Browning
That fawn-skin-dappled hair of hers,
And the ...
Summum Bonum, by Robert Browning
All the breath and the bloom of the year in the...
Roads, by Amy Lowell
I know a country laced with roads,
They join ...
A Roxbury Garden, by Amy Lowell
I Hoops Blue and pink sashes,
Criss-cross s...
The Shadow, by Amy Lowell
Paul Jannes was working very late,
For this w...
The Death of Adonis, by Sappho
Fragments 108, 110, 115, 117, 116, 111, 1...
The Wizard Way, by Aleister Crowley
VELVET soft the night-star glowed
Over the un...
Accuse Me Not, Beseech Thee, That I Wear, by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Accuse me not, beseech thee, that I wear
Too...
Irreparableness, by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
I HAVE been in the meadows all the day
And gat...
Lines Left Upon a Seat in a Yew-Tree..., by William Wordsworth
Nay, Traveller! Rest. This lonely Yew-tree sta...
To the Same Flower, by William Wordsworth
Pleasures newly found are sweet
When they lie ...
Visions of the Daughters of Albion, by William Blake
The Argument I lovè d Theotormon,
An...
Last Season, by Mark Turbyfill
We two
Storm-sheathed buds
Slept
Upon the wi...