SEE ALL TAGS & MOODS
The organization of sound patterns.
I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate,
My bands of silk and miniver
Momently grew heavier;
The black gauze was beggarly thin;
They flee from me that sometime did me seek
With naked foot, stalking in my chamber.
I have seen them gentle, tame, and meek,
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers; —
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone;
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
Go, lovely rose!
Tell her that wastes her time and me,
That now she knows,
Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
Break, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
His Grace! impossible! what dead!
Of old age too, and in his bed!
And could that mighty warrior fall?
Oh, Hope! thou soother sweet of human woes!
How shall I lure thee to my haunts forlorn!
For me wilt thou renew the withered rose,
I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said — “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert.... Near them, on the sand,
An old, mad, blind, despised, and dying King;
Princes, the dregs of their dull race, who flow
Through public scorn, — mud from a muddy spring;
When daisies pied and violets blue
And lady-smocks all silver-white
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue
When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
When I consider everything that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment,
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
Not marble nor the gilded monuments
Of princes shall outlive this powerful rhyme,
But you shall shine more bright in these contents
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man’s ingratitude;
There’s a race of men that don’t fit in,
A race that can’t stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
Our life is like a forest, where the sun
Glints down upon us through the throbbing leaves;
Hog Butcher for the World,
Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
Player with Railroads and…
Does the road wind up-hill all the way?
Yes, to the very end.
Will the day’s journey take the whole long day?
“Oh where are you going with your love-locks flowing
On the west wind blowing along this valley track?”
“The downhill path is easy, come with me an it please ye,
Pavement slipp’ry, people sneezing,
Lords in ermine, beggars freezing;
Titled gluttons dainties carving,
Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn,
Grew lean while he assailed the seasons;
He wept that he was ever born,
If all the world and love were young,
And truth in every Shepherd’s tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move,
Helen, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicéan barks of yore,
That gently, o’er a perfumed sea,
From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were — I have not seen
As others saw — I could not bring
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow —
Living, I had no might
To make you hear,
Now, in the inmost night,
‘O Jesus Christ! I’m hit,’ he said; and died.
Whether he vainly cursed, or prayed indeed,
The Bullets chirped — In vain! vain! vain!
When I consider how my light is spent,
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one Talent which is death to hide
Methought I saw my late espoused saint
Brought to me, like Alcestis, from the grave,
Whom Jove’s great son to her glad…
I think I should have loved you presently,
And given in earnest words I flung in jest;
And lifted honest eyes for you to see,
Had we but world enough and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down, and think which way
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
When Love with unconfinèd wings
Hovers within my Gates,
And my divine Althea brings
What the Heart of the Young Man Said to the Psalmist.
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
I
The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat,
Ay, gaze upon her rose-wreathed hair,
And gaze upon her smile;
Seem as you drank the very air
From plains that reel to southward, dim,
The road runs by me white and bare;
Up the steep hill it seems to swim
There, Robert, you have kill’d that fly — ,
And should you thousand ages try
The life you’ve taken to supply,
When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,
Before high-pilèd books, in charactery,
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has withered from the lake,
