Poetry Books

The writing of this book has afforded him pleasure in his leisure moments, and that pleasure would be much increased if he knew that the perusal of it would create any bond of sympathy between himself and the angling community in general.

Puella Mea is a poem by E. E. Cummings. It is notable as his longest poem, at 290 lines. The title is Latin and translates as "My Girl", referring to Elaine Orr Thayer, his first wife, and the mother of his only child, Nancy Thayer Andrews.

Tom Potts was fooling with a gun (Such follies should not be), When—bang! the pesky thing went off Most unexpectedly! Tom didn’t know ’twas loaded, and It scared him ’most to death—He tumbled flat upon the floor And fairly gasped for breath. The bullet smashed a fine French clock (The...

“Elogiu păsărilor” este o colecție de poeme în limba română, cu un lirism prezent și în versuri, și în proză, ale Anastasiei Forfotă, autoare din București. Abordând teme precum iubirea, lumina, zborul, viața, moartea, învierea, nemurirea, Dumnezeu și credința, prin motivele...

Love is a war I have fought and won,Love is a battle I have fought and lost,I desire no more wars again.......

Explore Sydney crime through poetry & art.

With These Four Things--Keep Me in Mind is an ode to power, passion, love, origin and sustainability. "...They are the tabernacle where the scriptures were stolen They are the land where the scriptures were stolen who creates justice, gives justice, is justice in the eyes Of...

The music of the American negro, the fresh and spontaneous expression of a good and care-free heart, has long been one of the most pleasing features of American life. It is human nature in its first vocal garb—original and unique, often humorous and always true to the sentiment of the singer. If...

A tale from out my western life you say? Something to while the Christmas Eve away; And something, too, to suit this festal time, With two old bachelors, long past their prime, Who as they sip in solitude their wine, Are filled with memories of Auld Lang Syne? Well,—I grant it. Yet why did you...

The contest of the Satyr with the God, Oh who shall end it? Who shall end the strife That fills all Art, all Nature and all Life, And give the right of flaying with a nod? Oh who when radiant noontide’s last note dies, And darkness with its mystery draws near, Shall bid the strains of twilight...