Poetry

L'Envoi By  Rudyard Kipling When Earth's last picture is painted, and the tubes are twisted and dried, When the oldest colours have faded, an…

The White Birds By William Butler Yeats I would that we were, my beloved, white birds on the foam of the sea! We tire of the flame of the me…

Verses to a Young Lady By  Robert Burns Here, where the Scottish muse immortal lives,     In sacred strains and tuneful numbers join’d, Accept the gi…

Persicos Odi To My Tobacconist By  William Hodgson Ellis I hate your imported Havannahs, Your perfumed cheroots I decline; His own special weakness e…

At the Lattice By  Duncan Campbell Scott Good-night, Marie, I kiss thine eyes,     A tender touch on either lid; They cover, as a cloud, the skies   …

The Dawn Dance By  C. J. Dennis What do you think I saw to-day when I arose at dawn? Blue Wrens and Yellow-tails dancing on the lawn! Bobbing here, a…

A Service of Song By  Emily Dickinson Some keep the Sabbath going to church; I keep it staying at home, With a bobolink for a chorister, And an orcha…

Patriot Fighting for His Home By  James McIntyre On the shores of the northern lakes An infant giant now awakes, He has long time been in a dream, Bu…

Later By  Edwin John Dove Pratt Was that a cry you say you heard?     Where? No. The winds would drown it quite.     No sound would reach the shore t…

The Waking By  Gilbert Parker To be young is to dream, and I dreamed no more;     I had smothered my heart as the fighter can: I toiled, and I looked…

Childhood By  Victor Hugo The small child sang; the mother, outstretched on the low bed,     With anguish moaned, — fair Form pain should possess not…

The Tall Dakoon By  Gilbert Parker The Tall Dakoon, the bridle rein he shook, and called aloud, His Arab steed sprang down the mists which wrapped th…

To Miss Logan, With Beattie’s Poems for a New Year's Gift By  Robert Burns Again the silent wheels of time     Their annual round have driv’n, An…

Stars By  Robert Lee Frost How countlessly they congregate     O'er our tumultuous snow, Which flows in shapes as tall as trees     When wintry w…

The Morning of Life By  Victor Hugo The mist of the morning is torn by the peaks, Old towers gleam white in the ray, And already the glor…

The Lake Isle of Innisfree By William Butler Yeats I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and …

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi By  Rudyard Kipling At the hole where he went in Red-Eye called to Wrinkle-Skin. Hear what little Red-Eye saith: 'Nag, come up a…