Poetry

The Oriole By  Emily Dickinson One of the ones that Midas touched, Who failed to touch us all, Was that confiding prodigal, The blissful oriole. So d…

The Ballad of Father Gilligan By William Butler Yeats The old priest Peter Gilligan Was weary night and day; For half his flock were i…

Life By  Walter Whitman Ever the undiscouraged, resolute, struggling soul of man; (Have former armies fail’d? then we send fresh armies — and fresh a…

The Necessitarian By  Rudyard Kipling I know not in Whose hands are laid     To empty upon earth From unsuspected ambuscade     The very Urns of Mirt…

A Boston Ballad (1854) By  Walter Whitman To get betimes in Boston town I rose this morning early, Here’s a good place at the corner, I must stand an…

To a Mouse On Turning Her Up In Her Nest With the Plough, November, 1785 By  Robert Burns Wee, sleekit, cow’rin’, tim’rous beastie, O, what a panic’s…

In an Old Quarry November By  Duncan Campbell Scott Above the lifeless pools the mist films swim, On the lowlands where sedges chaff and nod; The wit…

Rheims By  Frank Oliver Call In royal splendour rose the house of prayer,     Its mystic gloom arched over by the flight     Of soaring vault; above …

The Panther By Rainer Maria Rilke His weary glance, from passing by the bars, Has grown into a dazed and vacant stare; It seems to him…

A Prayer in Spring By  Robert Lee Frost Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers to-day; And give us not to think so far away As the uncertain harvest; ke…

Brisbane By  Rudyard Kipling The northern stirp beneath the southern skies —      I build a nation for an Empire's need, Suffer a little, and my …