Archive

I Am

I am—yet what I am none cares or knows; My friends forsake me like a memory lost: I am the self-consumer of my woes— They rise and vanish in oblivious host, Like shadows in love’s frenzied stifled throes And yet I am, and live—like vapours tossedInto the nothingness of scorn...

By John Clare
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31 December

The Wild Flower’s Song

As I wander'd the forest, The green leaves among, I heard a wild flower Singing a song.I slept in the Earth In the silent night, I murmur'd my fears And I felt delight.In the morning I went As rosy as morn, To seek...

By William Blake
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30 December

Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone, Silence the pianos and with muffled drum Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead Scribbling on the sky the message 'He is Dead'. Put crepe bows round the...

By W. H. Auden
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24 December

Growing Old

What is it to grow old? Is it to lose the glory of the form, The lustre of the eye? Is it for beauty to forego her wreath? Yes, but not for this alone.Is it to feel our strength - Not our bloom only, but our strength -decay? Is it to...

By Matthew Arnold
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13 December

Life In A Love

Escape me? Never--- Beloved! While I am I, and you are you, So long as the world contains us both, Me the loving and you the loth While the one eludes, must the other pursue. My life is a fault at last, I fear: It seems too much like a fate, indeed! Though I...

By Robert Browning
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09 December

Charge Of The Light Brigade

Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. 'Forward, the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns! ' he said: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.'Forward, the Light Brigade! ' Was there a man dismay'd? Not tho' the soldier knew Some...

By Lord Alfred Tennyson
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02 December

A Poison Tree

I was angry with my friend: I told my wrath, my wrath did end. I was angry with my foe: I told it not, my wrath did grow.And I watered it in fears, Night and morning with my tears; And I sunned it with smiles, And with soft deceitful wiles.And...

By William Blake
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01 December

When I Have Fears

When I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain, Before high-piled books, in charactery, Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain; When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may...

By John Keats
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29 November