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Category Archives: Public Domain

“The Savior must have been a docile Gentleman” by Emily Dickinson

The Savior must have been A docile Gentleman– To come so far so cold a Day For little Fellowmen– The Road to Bethlehem Since He and I were Boys Was leveled, but for that ‘twould be A rugged Billion Miles–

“After Love” by Sara Teasdale

There is no magic any more,       We meet as other people do, You work no miracle for me       Nor I for you. You were the wind and I the sea–       There is no splendor any more, I have grown listless as the pool       Beside the shore. But though the pool is safe from storm       And […]

“A Man may make a Remark” by Emily Dickinson

A Man may make a Remark— In itself—a quiet thing That may furnish the Fuse unto a Spark In dormant nature—lain— Let us deport—with skill— Let us discourse—with care— Powder exists in Charcoal— Before it exists in Fire.

Robert Frost’s “Now Close the Windows”

Now close the windows and hush all the fields; If the trees must, let them silently toss; No bird is singing now, and if there is, Be it my loss. It will be long ere the marshes resume, It will be long ere the earliest bird: So close the windows and not hear the wind, […]

“November Night”

Listen. With faint dry sound, Like steps of passing ghosts, The leaves, frost-crisp’d, break from the trees And fall. – Adelaide Crapsey

Emily Dickinson’s “The Secret”

Some things that fly there be, — Birds, hours, the bumble-bee: Of these no elegy. Some things that stay there be, — Grief, hills, eternity: Nor this behooveth me. There are, that resting, rise. Can I expound the skies? How still the riddle lies!

Ralph Waldo Emerson’s “Orator”

He who has no hands Perforce must use his tongue; Foxes are so cunning Because they are not strong.

Edna St. Vincent Millay’s “Grown-up”

Was it for this I uttered prayers And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs, That now, domestic as a plate, I should retire at half-past eight?

Adelaide Crapsey’s “The Warning”

Just now, Out of the strange Still dusk… as strange, as still… A white moth flew… Why am I grown So cold?

H.D.’s “Heat”

O WIND, rend open the heat, Cut apart the heat, Rend it to tatters. Fruit cannot drop Through this thick air — Fruit cannot fall into heat That presses up and blunts The points of pears And rounds the grapes. Cut the heat — Plough through it, Turning it on either side Of your path.