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Monthly Archives: September 2009

poem of the day

The Vanity of Human Wishes
by Dr. Samuel Johnson (1709-1784)

poem of the day

Libertad! Igualdad! Fraternidad!
by William Carlos Williams (1883-1963)
You sullen pig of a man
you force me into the mud
with your stinking ash-cart!
Brother!
        

poem of the day

Outcast
by Claude McKay (1889-1948)
For the dim regions whence my fathers came
My spirit, bondaged by the body, longs.
Words felt, but never heard, my lips would frame;
My soul would sing forgotten jungle songs.
I would go back to darkness and to peace,
But the great western world holds me in fee,
And I may never hope for full release
While to [...]

poem of the day

Indian Summer
by Hamlin Garland (1860-1940)
At last there came
The sudden fall of frost, when Time
Dreaming through russet September days
Suddenly awoke, and lifting his head, strode
Swiftly forward

poem of the day

The Sorrows of Charlotte
by Sarah Morgan Bryan Piatt (1836-1919)
The Sorrows of Werther, that is the Book,
   Little girl of mine. Will I show you what
His sorrows were like? Such a brown-eyed look
   Could hardly see. Never mind, they were not
Such sorrows, I fancy as yours or mine,
But such as in pictures look so fine,
   And such as can [...]

poem of the day

From Sonnets From the Portuguese (

poem of the day

Gloire de Dijon
by David Herbert Lawrence (1885-1930)
When she rises in the morning
I linger to watch her;
She spreads the bath-cloth underneath the window \
And the sunbeams catch her
Glistening white on the shoulders,
While down her sides the mellow
Golden shadow glows as
She stoops to the sponge, and her swung breasts
Sway like full-blown
Gloire de Dijon roses.
She drips herself with [...]

poem of the day

The Helmsman
by Hilda Doolittle (1886-1961)
O be swift

poem of the day

A Wood Song
by Ralph Hodgson (1871-1962)
Now one and all, you Roses,
Wake up, you lie too long!
This very morning closes
The Nightingale his song;
Each from its olive chamber
His babies every one
This very morning clamber
Into the shining sun.
You Slug-a-beds and Simples,
Why will you so delay!
Dears, doff your olive wimples,
And listen while you may.

poem of the day

The Child on the Curbstone
by Elinor Wylie (1885-1928)
The headlights raced; the moon, death-faced,
Stared down on that golden river.
I saw through the smoke the scarlet cloak
Of a boy who could not shiver.
His father