Midsummer in the Catskills, by John Burroughs
The strident hum of sickle-bar,
Like giant in...
Bird Poems
Snow-Birds, by John Burroughs
From out the white and pulsing storm
I hear th...
The Song of the Toad, by John Burroughs
Have you heard the blinking toad
Sing his solo...
How the Raven Became Black, by John Godfrey Saxe
There's a clever classic story,
Such as poets...
Maud Muller, by John Greenleaf Whittier
MAUD MULLER, on a summer's day,
Raked the m...
Pennsylvania, by John Greenleaf Whittier
Never in tender quiet lapsed the day
From Penn...
The Witch's Daughter, by John Greenleaf Whittier
It was the pleasant harvest time,
When cellar...
Taking the Train of Singularity South from Midtown, by John J. Ronan
42nd St. As the funnel of everyone in Times Sq...
Said the Rose, by Joyce Kilmer
No flower hath so fair a face as this pale love...
Folded, by Judith Skillman
From Latticework This bird, its orange
faste...
The Soul's Need, by Jules Romains
I WISH for nothing more
Than my emotion of now...
Cloud-Eye, by Katherine Gallagher
The sting in a limbering spring day
foreshadow...
A Bird Hatches, by Keith Holyoak
In glory of genesis
the oval universe
took fo...
Old Oak, by Lew Sarett
Oh, you and I, old oak, beneath the leaden s...
Swamp-Owl, by Lew Sarett
A brooding pond in the hush of dusk,
As black...
The Prisoner of Chillon, by Lord Byron
My hair is grey, but not with years,
Nor gre...
October, by Louise Driscoll
When my hills stand ablaze with gold and red,
...
Nature and Composition of the Mind, by Lucretius
First, then, I say, the mind which oft we ca...
I am the Sphinx, by Maggie Butt
A doorway is a hopeless hiding place
and the s...
Interior, by Mariano Brull
Here in her little room all still and lone
Th...
Disillusion, by Marjorie Allen Seiffert
I touch joy and it crumbles under my fingers--
...
Ode in the New Mode, by Marjorie Allen Seiffert
Your face
Was a temple
From which your soul
...
The Shining Bird, by Marjorie Allen Seiffert
A bird is three things:
Feathers, flight and...
Singalese Love Songs, by Marjorie Allen Seiffert
I Your eyes are beautiful beggars,
Careless ...
Ambition's Climax, by Martha Lavinia Hoffman
There is no climax in Ambition's scope,
Behol...