January
by William Carlos WilliamsAgain I reply to the triple winds running chromatic fifths of derision outside my window: Play louder. You will not succeed. I am bound more to my sentences the more you batter at me to follow you. And the wind, as before, fingers perfectly its derisive music.
January
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Here take my picture
Elegy V: His Picture by Dr John Donne Here take my picture; though I bid farewell Thine, in my heart, where my soul dwells, shall dwell. ’Tis…
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Pea Brush
Pea Brush by Robert Frost I walked down alone Sunday after church To the place where John has been cutting trees To see for myself about the…
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Two poems by e.e.cummings
Summer Silence Eruptive lightnings flutter to and fro Above the heights of immemorial hills; Thirst-stricken air, dumb-throated, in its woe Limply…
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