Rose Poems

Rose Poems

Sonnets Xiii , by William Shakespeare

FROM you have I been absent in the spring,
Wh...

Sonnets Xvii , by William Shakespeare

O NEVER say that I was false of heart,
Though...

The Passionate Pilgrim , by William Shakespeare

I.
When my love swears that she is made of trut...

The Procreation Sonnets , by William Shakespeare

I

From fairest creatures we desire increase,
...

Death by Water, by T. S. Eliot

Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,
Fo...

A Game of Chess, by T. S. Eliot

THE Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne,...

Portrait of a Lady, by T. S. Eliot

Thou hast committed--
Fornication: but that wa...

Rhapsody on a Windy Night, by T. S. Eliot

Twelve o'clock.
Along the reaches of the stree...

A Boston Ballad [1854], by Walt Whitman

To get betimes in Boston town I rose this morni...

The Pallid Wreath, by Walt Whitman

Somehow I cannot let it go yet, funeral though...

A Persian Lesson, by Walt Whitman

For his o'erarching and last lesson the greybea...

The Singer in the Prison, by Walt Whitman

        O sight of pity, s...

Song at Sunset, by Walt Whitman

Splendor of ended day floating and filling me, ...

Song of the Redwood-Tree, by Walt Whitman

1 A California song,
A prophecy and indirec...

To Think of Time, by Walt Whitman

1 To think of time--of all that retrospection...

Vigil Strange I Kept on the Field One Night, by Walt Whitman

Vigil strange I kept on the field one night;
...

When I Heard at the Close of the Day, by Walt Whitman

When I heard at the close of the day how my nam...

The Farmer of Tilsbury Vale, by William Wordsworth

'Tis not for the unfeeling, the falsely refine...

The Fountain, by William Wordsworth

We talked with open heart, and tongue
Affect...

French Revolution, by William Wordsworth

As it Appeared to Enthusiasts at its Commenceme...

Guilt and Sorrow; or, Incidents Upon Salisbury Plain, by William Wordsworth

I A traveller on the skirt of Sarum's Plain
...

Michael, by William Wordsworth

A Pastoral Poem If from the public way you tur...

Nutting, by William Wordsworth

        It seems a day
(I...