The experience of each new age requires a new confession, and the world seems always waiting for its poet.

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...

By John Keats
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29 November

Going for Water

The well was dry beside the door, And so we went with pail and can Across the fields behind the house To seek the brook if still it ran;Not...

By Robert Frost
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28 November

Alone

From childhood’s hour I have not been As others were—I have not seen As others saw—I could not bring My passions from a common spring— From the same source I...

By Edgar Allan Poe
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27 November

Doors

Like a young child who to his mother’s door Runs eager for the welcoming embrace, And finds the door shut, and with troubled face Calls and through sobbing calls,...

By Hermann Hagedorn
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24 November

Debt

What do I owe to you Who loved me deep and long? You never gave my spirits wings Nor gave my heart a song.But oh, to him I loved, Who...

By Sara Teasdale
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22 November

To Celia

There was a strangeness on your lips, Lips that had been so sure; You still were mine but in eclipse, Beside me but obscure....

By Witter Bynner
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20 November

Color

A blue-black Nubian plucking oranges At Jaffa by a sea of malachite, In red tarboosh, green sash, and flowing white Burnous—among the shadowy memories That haunt me yet by these...

By Wilfrid Wilson Gibson
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19 November

Cologne Cathedral

The little white prayers Of Elspeth Fry Float up the arches Into the sky.A little black bird On the belfry high Pecks at them As they go by.Frances Shaw...

By Frances Shaw
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18 November