Fly Poems

Fly Poems

Merlin and Vivien, by Alfred Tennyson

A storm was coming, but the winds were still, ...

The Passing of Arthur, by Alfred Tennyson

That story which the bold Sir Bedivere,
First...

Pelleas and Ettarre, by Alfred Tennyson

King Arthur made new knights to fill the gap
L...

The Revenge: A Ballad of the Fleet, by Alfred Tennyson

At Flores in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville l...

Sir Galahad, by Alfred Tennyson

My good blade carves the casques of men,
My t...

The Two Voices, by Alfred Tennyson

A still small voice spake unto me,
"Thou art ...

The Vision of Sin, by Alfred Tennyson

1 I had a vision when the night was late:
A...

Ode III, by Hafez

From the Divan Wind from the east, oh Lapwing...

Reveille, by Lola Ridge

Come forth, you workers!
Let the fires go col...

At the Window, by D. H. Lawrence

THE pine-trees bend to listen to the autumn win...

Excursion, by D. H. Lawrence

I WONDER, can the night go by;
Can this shot...

In a Boat, by D. H. Lawrence

SEE the stars, love,
In the water much clear...

Listening, by D. H. Lawrence

I LISTEN to the stillness of you,
My dear, a...

Mating, by D. H. Lawrence

ROUND clouds roll in the arms of the wind,
Th...

Red Moon-Rise, by D. H. Lawrence

The train in running across the weald has falle...

Snap-Dragon, by D. H. Lawrence

SHE bade me follow to her garden, where
The m...

Bittô, by Anna de Noailles

THE honey-gilded summer loud with bees,
Perfu...

Emotional Monologue, by Maxwell Bodenheim

A man is sitting within the enigmatic turmoil o...

Finalities, by Maxwell Bodenheim

I Pretend that night is grandiose,
That star...

Seaweed from Mars, by Maxwell Bodenheim

I "Have you ever played a violin
Larger than ...

The Wrinkled Grimaces of Eastern Skies, by Maxwell Bodenheim

The wrinkled grimaces of eastern skies
Are cau...

Young Poet, by Maxwell Bodenheim

The grinning clamour on your face
Dies abruptl...

From the Chrysalis, by Emily Dickinson

My cocoon tightens, colors tease,
I'm feelin...

If You Were Coming in the Fall, by Emily Dickinson

IF you were coming in the fall,
I'd brush the...

The Secret, by Emily Dickinson

Some things that fly there be, --
Birds, hou...