Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
By Mohsin11 months ago in Poets
Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
The Laughing Heart
your life is your life
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth
How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth,
Stol'n on his wing my three-and-twentieth year!
She walks in beauty
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I
Did, till we loved? Were we not weaned till then?
But sucked on country pleasures, childishly?
My Boat Is On The Shore
My boat is on the shore,
And my bark is on the sea;
But before I go, Tom Moore,
Here's a double health to thee!
Sweet flower sprung beneath my thin skin
On my heart it bloomed, filled me to the brim
With beautiful thoughts and dreams of a life
Acquainted with the Night
I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.
Holy Thursday: Is this a holy thing to see
Is this a holy thing to see,
In a rich and fruitful land,
Babes reducd to misery,
There is a change--and I am poor;
Your love hath been, nor long ago,
A fountain at my fond heart's door,