The Palace of Art, by Alfred Tennyson
I built my soul a lordly pleasure-house
Wherei...
Crocus Poems
Discord, by Conrad Aiken
The hurdy-gurdy sings in the golden morning;
...
The Book of Hours of Sister Clotilde, by Amy Lowell
The Bell in the convent tower swung.
High over...
Georgic IV, by Virgil
Of air-born honey, gift of heaven, I now
Tak...
The Bluebird, by Andrew Downing
I saw a pretty bluebird, yesterday,
Rocking ...
Hymn to Apollo, by Callimachus
What force, what sudden impulse thus can make
...
Question--Answer, by Clara Marcelle Farrar Greene
WINTER. The sun is waning wan and old;
The d...
Spring, by Edna St. Vincent Millay
To what purpose, April, do you return again?
...
The Paschal Flower, by Eliza Allen Starr
From a crown of pale leaves like the thorny,
...
Metamorphosis, by Joyce Kilmer
He was an evil thing to see--
Of joy his mouth...
A Visit to Tusculum, by Richard Chenevix Trench
A solemn thing it is, and full of awe,
Wande...
The Flight of April, by Rosa Vertner Jeffrey
By frozen rills
Among the hills
Was smiling A...
Change, by Sarah Knowles Bolton
To M. L. B. I watched the crocus, purple, wh...
Birds of Spring, by Watie W. Swanzy
Trooping o'er the meadows,
Chatter, chatter,...
The Birth of the Red Rose, by William Wilsey Martin
Thro' the gateways of Eden, Eve all mournful
...