Poetry – Fallen Leaves

Beneath the frost-stripped forest boughs, the drifted leaves are spread,Vanished all summer’s green delight, all autumn’s glory fled. Yet, gathering strength from that dead host, the tree in some far springShall toward the skies a denser growth, a darker foliage fling. Ah, if some power from us, long dead, should strengthen life to be,We need … More Poetry – Fallen Leaves

Poetry – Preparation

“I have no time for those things now,” we say;“But in the future just a little way,No longer by this ceaseless toil oppressed,I shall have leisure then for thought and rest.When I the debts upon my land have paid,Or on foundations firm my business laid,I shall take time for discourse long and sweetWith those beloved … More Poetry – Preparation

Poetry – Daffodils

I wandered lonely as a cloudThat floats on high o’er vales and hills,When all at once I saw a crowd,A host, of golden daffodils;Beside the lake, beneath the trees,Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shineAnd twinkle on the milky way,They stretched in never-ending lineAlong the margin of a bay:Ten thousand … More Poetry – Daffodils

Poetry – November In Cambridge

EVEN in her mourning is the College fair,With burial robes of scarlet leaves and goldThat flicker down in misty morning coldOr fall reluctant through gray evening air.The Gothic elms rise desolately bare;A clinging flame the twisted ivy crawlsIts blood-red course athwart the time-worn wallsAnd spreads its crimson arras everywhere. High noon brings some wan ghost … More Poetry – November In Cambridge

Poetry – IF

Poetry – IF by Rudyard Kipling

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Poetry – August Rain

DEAD is the day, and through the list’ning leavesThe wind-dirge sighs. Sad at my dim-lit paneI darkling sit to hear the pattering rainAnd pebbly drip that plashes from the eaves.Far in the misty fields loll sodden sheaves,Whilst every wheel-mark in the rutty laneLeads down its trickling rivulet to drainMarsh-meadows where the knotted willow grieves. Gray … More Poetry – August Rain

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,And sorry I could not travel bothAnd be one traveler, long I stoodAnd looked down one as far as I couldTo where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair,And having perhaps the better claim,Because it was grassy and wanted wear;Though as for that … More The Road Not Taken

Poetry – Mandalay

BY THE old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin’ lazy at the sea,There’s a Burma girl a-settin’, and I know she thinks o’ me;For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say:“Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay! “Come you back to Mandalay,Where the old Flotilla lay:Can’t you ‘ear their paddles … More Poetry – Mandalay

Poetry – The Children’s Hour

Between the dark and the daylight,      When the night is beginning to lower,Comes a pause in the day’s occupations,      That is known as the Children’s Hour. I hear in the chamber above me      The patter of little feet,The sound of a door that is opened,      And voices soft and sweet. From my study, I see in the lamplight,      Descending the … More Poetry – The Children’s Hour

Poetry – May Evening

SILENCE and peace. The warm, love-bringing NightFrom the pure zenith soft and slow descendingLulls the sweet air to rest, with the day’s ending,Save where the dark bat wheels his fickle flight.Deep glows the rosy-golden West, still bright,Beyond the plumy toss of elms down-bending,Whilst on the close-cut lawns, blurring and bending,Tall chapel-windows cast their ruddy light. … More Poetry – May Evening

Poetry – The Mulberry

Within our garden walls you seeA huge old-fashioned mulberryWhose purple fruit in summer fallsInto the shade below the walls. Its blackened trunk grows grim and hardFrom the harsh gravel of the yard,Its crest beholds the winds go byAnd scans the milky evening sky. And like this tree my soul makes mirth,(Though rooted deep in blackened … More Poetry – The Mulberry

Poetry – Fig

The proper way to eat a fig, in society,Is to split it in four, holding it by the stump,And open it, so that it is a glittering, rosy, moist, honied, heavy-petalled four-petalled flower. Then you throw away the skinWhich is just like a four-sepalled calyx,After you have taken off the blossom with your lips. But … More Poetry – Fig

Poetry – Medlars And Sorb-Apples

I love you, rotten,Delicious rottenness. I love to suck you out from your skinsSo brown and soft and coming suave,So morbid, as the Italians say. What a rare, powerful, reminiscent flavorComes out of your falling through the stages of decay:Stream within stream. Something of the same flavor as Syracusan muscat wineOr vulgar Marsala. Though even … More Poetry – Medlars And Sorb-Apples

Poetry – April

Emblem of life, see changeful April sailIn varying vest along the shadowy skies,Now bidding Summer’s softest zephyrs rise,Anon recalling Winter’s stormy gale,And pouring from the cloud her sudden hail:Then smiling through the tear that dims her eyes,While Iris with her braid the welkin dyes,Promise of sunshine not so prone to fail.So, to us sojourners in … More Poetry – April


Twilight it is, and the far woods are dim, and the rooks cry and call.Down in the valley the lamps, and the mist, and a star overall,Thereby the rick, where they thresh, is the drone at an end,Twilight it is, and I travel the road with my friend. I think of the friends who are … More Twilight

Poetry – The Snow-Drop (Mower)

Sweet little unassuming flower,It stays not for an April shower,But dares to rear its tiny head,While threat’ning clouds the skies o’erspread. It ne’er displays the vain desireTo dress in flaunting gay attire;No purple, scarlet, blue, or gold,Deck its fair leaves when they unfold. Born on a cold and wintry night,Its flowing robes were snowy white;No … More Poetry – The Snow-Drop (Mower)