Indian Mascot, by Joshua Knight
Filling in for an absent teacher
at a middle s...
Horse Poems
The Big Top, by Joyce Kilmer
The boom and blare of the big brass band is che...
Life Unanimous, by Jules Romains
The creaking wheel of the dust cart; the stumbl...
These Spoils Are Not Mine, by Leonidas of Tarentum
These spoils are not mine.
Who has hung up on ...
Finley's Pasture, by Mark Thalman
Four Belgians, ebony titans, long retired,
...
How the Old Horse Won the Bet, by Oliver Wendell Holmes
'T WAS on the famous trotting-ground,
The bet...
To Lucasta, Going to the Wars, by Richard Lovelace
Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind,
That from ...
Elder-Flowers, by Rosa Vertner Jeffrey
When the beautiful elder-flowers are drifting t...
The Ballad of East and West, by Rudyard Kipling
Oh, East is East, and West is West, and neve...
The Horse, by S. Moore
The noble horse, but, oh! How oft the poor
I...
The Mississippi River, by Sarah Josepha Hale
Shadowed beneath those awful piles of stone,
...
Battle of Two Brothers, by Sophocles
Chorus from Antigone I O light of yon bright ...
Man, by Sophocles
Chorus from Antigone I Many the forms of life...
The Young Glory, by Stanley Gemmell
I Orb, my heart's mercy to my heart
Quick an...
Horatius, by Thomas Babington Macaulay
A Lay Made about the Year of the City CCCLX I ...
A Thunderstorm in Town, by Thomas Hardy
A Reminiscence: 1893 She wore a new 'terra-cot...
The Mississippi, by Watie W. Swanzy
Majestic river! In thy onward course,
Like th...
St. Valentine's Day, by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Today, all day, I rode upon the Down,
With ...
The Diverting History of John Gilpin, by William Cowper
Showing how he went farther than he intended, ...
The New Day, by William H. Simpson
The swift scouts of dawn ride in,
Their lance...
The Rape of Lucrece, by William Shakespeare
FROM the besieged Ardea all in post,
...
The Circus, by Witter Bynner
I went tonight to a country circus.
There had ...
Refugio's Hair, by Alberto Rios
In the old days of our family,
My grandmother w...
Easter, 1916, by William Butler Yeats
I have met them at close of dayComing with vivi...
The First Night, by Billy Collins
The worst thing about death must be ...