Runes of Rhyme
- Power of a Word by Tami E. Townsend
-
Should I yet be softer.
So harsh.
Language -
leaving innocence
not to savor.
Taming the tongue.
Profanity -
cannot be undone.
Human attempts.
Disappointment.
Contempt.
Discretion non - intact.
Language -
darkly at a twist.
Headlon... - Road Not Taken by Robert Frost
-
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because... - Rules and Regulations by Lewis Carroll
-
A short direction
To avoid dejection,
By variations
In occupations,
And prolongation
Of relaxation,
And combinations
Of recreations,
And disputation
On the state of the nation
In adaptation
To your station,
By invitations
To friends an... - Self-pity by DH Lawrence
-
I never saw a wild thing
sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry for itself. ... - Solitude by Lewis Carroll
-
I love the stillness of the wood:
I love the music of the rill:
I love to couch in pensive mood
Upon some silent hill.
Scarce heard, beneath you arching trees,
The silver-crested ripples pass;
And, like a mimic brook, the breeze
Whispers among the grass.
- Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost
-
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkes... - The Ant by Ogden Nash
-
The ant has made herself illustrious
By constant industry industrious.
So what? Would you be calm and placid
If you were full of formic acid?... - The centipede by Ogden Nash
-
I objurgate the centipede,
A bug we do not really need.... - The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot
-
S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s'i'odo il vero,
Senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.
LET us go... - The Rainy Day by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
-
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.
My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and t... - THE ROAD AND THE END by Carl Sandburg
-
I SHALL foot it
Down the roadway in the dusk,
Where shapes of hunger wander
And the fugitives of pain go by.
I shall foot it
In the silence of the morning,
See the night slur into dawn,
Hear the slow great winds arise
Where tall trees flank the way
And sh... - The Silken Tent by Robert Frost
-
She is as in a field a silken tent
At midday when a sunny summer breeze
Has dried the dew and all its ropes relent,
So that in guys it gently sways at ease,
And its supporting central cedar pole,
That is its pinnacle to heavenward
And signifies the sureness of the soul,... - The Thinker by Berton Braley
-
By which the steel is wrought,
Back of the workshop's clamor
The seeker may find the Thought,
The Thought that is ever master
Of iron and steam and steel,
That rises above disaster
And tramples it under heel!
The drudge may fret and tinker
Or labor with ... - Tranquility Base by Ron Havens
-
"Tranquility Base here," said the man in the moon,
How quickly he flew there, the dream came so soon.
"Tranquility Base here," that's how it was then,
How quickly he's flown, just a dream once again.... - Very like a Whale by Ogden Nash
-
One thing that literature would be greatly the better for
Would be a more restricted employment by authors of simile and metaphor.
Authors of all races, be they Greeks, Romans, Teutons or Celts,
Can'ts seem just to say that anything is the thing it is but have to go out
of the... - WHO AM I? by Carl Sandburg
-
MY head knocks against the stars.
My feet are on the hilltops.
My finger-tips are in the valleys and shores of
universal life.
Down in the sounding foam of primal things I
reach my hands and play with pebbles of
destiny.
I have been to hell and back ...
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