Poems

It seems a day(I speak of one from many singled out)One of those heavenly days that cannot die;When, in the eagerness of boyish hope,I left our cottage-threshold, sallying forthWith a huge wallet o'er my shoulders slung,A nutting-crook in hand; and turned my stepsTow'rd some far-distant wood, a Figure quaint,Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off weedsWhich for that service … [Read more...] about Nutting, By: William Wordsworth

O Nightingale! thou surely artA creature of a "fiery heart":These notes of thine, they pierce and pierce;Tumultuous harmony and fierce!Thou sing'st as if the God of wineHad helped thee to a Valentine;A song in mockery and despiteOf shades, and dews, and silent night;And steady bliss, and all the lovesNow sleeping in these peaceful groves.I heard a Stock-dove sing or sayHis … [Read more...] about O Nightingale! Thou Surely Art, By: WIlliam Wordsworth

how it hurts to know that your brown eyes will never look at me with affectionwhile mine only find the fire when they get lost in yoursthe storm of living in your absence is like living in the darkness of the deep seaeven in inhospitable conditions, you are the only life that persists in meand without you there is no purpose, there is no life, I am an … [Read more...] about One-Sided Love, By: Thales Eduardo Cornii

Maybe Lilian shouldhave listened When her motherwarned her about me And what love meanton the other sideof a wide-eyed selfie. Pictures lie worsethan an eyewitnesson the standwith a sweetheartdeal for time served. Lilian gave me hermother’s opinion,knowing she didn’tagree, But she said itlike a used car dealertelling youthe sale was as is. Don’t bring it … [Read more...] about Repairing Hearts, By: Andrew Cyr

Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room;And hermits are contented with their cells;And students with their pensive citadels;Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom,Sit blithe and happy; bees that soar for bloom,High as the highest Peak of Furness-fells,Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells:In truth the prison, unto which we doomOurselves, no prison is: and hence for … [Read more...] about Nuns Fret Not At Their Convent’s Narrow Room, By: William Wordsworth