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


To-night the little girl-nun died. Her hands were laid Across her breast; the last sun tried To kiss her quiet braid; And where the little river cried, Her grave was made. The...

By Mary Carolyn Davies
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17 November


Brief on a flying night, From the shaken tower, A flock of bells take flight, And go with the hour. Like birds from the cote to the gales, Abrupt—oh, hark!— A fleet...

By Alice Meynell
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16 November


I heard one who said: “Verily, What word have I for children here? Your Dollar is your only Word, The wrath of it your only fear. “You build it altars...

By Edwin Arlington Robinson
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15 November


Who will be naming the wind That lifts me and leaves me; Swelleth my budding flame, Foully bereaves me? From the land whose forgotten name Man shall not find, Blowest thou, wind? Clara...

By Clara Shanafelt
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14 November


How like the stars are these white, nameless faces— These far innumerable burning coals! This pale procession out of stellar spaces, This Milky Way of souls! Each in its own...

By Hermann Hagedorn
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13 November

Bessie Bobtail

As down the street she wambled slow, She had not got a place to go: She had not got a place to fall And rest herself—no place at all. She...

By James Stephens
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11 November


You say I touch the barberries As a lover his mistress? What a curious fancy! One must be delicate, you know— They have bitter thorns. You say my hand is hurt? Oh...

By Mary Aldis
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10 November


They ask me where I’ve been, And what I’ve done and seen. But what can I reply Who know it wasn’t I, But someone, just like me, Who went across the...

By Wilfrid Wilson Gibson
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09 November

At the Aquarium

Serene the silver fishes glide, Stern-lipped, and pale, and wonder-eyed! As through the aged deeps of ocean, They glide with wan and wavy motion! They have no pathway where they...

By Max Eastman
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06 November