Title Poet Year Written Collection Body
At Best

The faithful helm commands the keel,
  From port to port fair breezes blow;
But the ship must sail the convex sea,
  Nor may she straighter go.

So, man to man; in fair accord,
  On thought and will the winds may wait;
But the world will bend the...

To O - S. C. by Annie Eliot Trumbull

Spirit of “fire and dew,”
  Whither hast fled?
Thy soul they never knew
  Who call thee dead.

Deep thoughts of why and how
  Shadowed thine eyes:
Thou hast the answers now
  Straight from the skies.

Thrilled with a double power...

What Was My Dream?

What was my dream? Though consciousness be clear,
  I hold no memory of the potent thing,
Yet feel the force of it—a creeping fear,
A hope, a horror, and a sense austere
    Of revelation, stayed at thought’s extreme:
  As when the wind is passed, the...

A White Rose

The red rose whispers of passion,
  And the white rose breathes of love;
Oh, the red rose is a falcon,
  And the white rose is a dove.

But I send you a cream-white rosebud
  With a flush on its petal tips;
For the love that is purest and sweetest...


The morning is cheery, my boys, arouse!
The dew shines bright on the chestnut boughs,
And the sleepy mist on the river lies,
Though the east is flushing with crimson dyes.
  Awake! awake! awake!
    O’er field and wood and brake,
  With glories...

The Taxi Amy Lowell 1915

When I go away from you
The world beats dead
Like a slackened drum.
I call out for you against the jutted stars
And shout into the ridges of the wind.
Streets coming fast,
One after the other,
Wedge you away from me,
And the lamps of the city prick my eyes...

Venus Transiens Amy Lowell 1915

Tell me,
Was Venus more beautiful
Than you are,
When she topped
The crinkled waves,
Drifting shoreward
On her plaited shell?
Was Botticelli’s vision
Fairer than mine;
And were the painted rosebuds
He tossed his lady
Of better worth

Madonna of the Evening Flowers Amy Lowell 1915

All day long I have been working,
Now I am tired.
I call:“Where are you?”
But there is only the oak tree rustling in the wind.
The house is very quiet,
The sun shines in on your books,
On your scissors and thimble just put down,
But you are not there.

May Sara Teasdale 1911

The wind is tossing the lilacs,
The new leaves laugh in the sun,
And the petals fall on the orchard wall,
But for me the spring is done.

Beneath the apple blossoms
I go a wintry way,
For love that smiled in April
Is false to me in May.

Love and Death Sara Teasdale 1911

Shall we, too, rise forgetful from our sleep,
And shall my soul that lies within your hand
Remember nothing, as the blowing sand
Forgets the palm where long blue shadows creep
When winds along the darkened desert sweep?

Or would it still remember, tho' it spanned

I Am Not Yours Sara Teasdale 1911

I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, although I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea.

You love me, and I find you still
A spirit beautiful and bright,
Yet I am I, who long to be
Lost as a light is lost in light.

The Kiss Sara Teasdale 1915

I hoped that he would love me,
And he has kissed my mouth,
But I am like a stricken bird
That cannot reach the south.

For though I know he loves me,
To-night my heart is sad;
His kiss was not so wonderful
As all the dreams I had.

I Thought of You Sara Teasdale 1911

I thought of you and how you love this beauty,
And walking up the long beach all alone
I heard the waves breaking in measured thunder
As you and I once heard their monotone.

Around me were the echoing dunes, beyond me
The cold and sparkling silver of the sea,

I Would Live in Your Love Sara Teasdale 1911

I would live in your love as the sea-grasses live in the sea,
Borne up by each wave as it passes, drawn down by each wave that

I would empty my soul of the dreams that have gathered in me,
I would beat with your heart as it beats, I would follow your soul

Love Me Sara Teasdale 1915

Brown-thrush singing all day long
In the leaves above me,
Take my love this April song,
"Love me, love me, love me!"

When he harkens what you say,
Bid him, lest he miss me,
Leave his work or leave his play,
And kiss me, kiss me, kiss me!

Love-Free Sara Teasdale 1920

I am free of love as a bird flying south in the autumn,
Swift and intent, asking no joy from another,
Glad to forget all of the passion of April
Ere it was love-free.

I am free of love, and I listen to music lightly,
But if he returned, if he should look at me deeply,...

I Love You Sara Teasdale 1911

When April bends above me
And finds me fast asleep
Dust need not keep the secret
A live heart died to keep.

When April tells the thrushes,
The meadow-larks will know,
And pipe the three words lightly
To all the winds that blow.

Above his roof the...

How Do I Love Thee Elizabeth Barrett Browning 1850

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love...

Sonnets from the Portuguese, 14 Elizabeth Barrett Browning 1826

If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for love's sake only. Do not say
'I love her for her smile---her...

La Sagesse mal appliquée Elizabeth Barrett Browning 1826

        Ô Papillon si j’étais toi
        Que j’eusse puissance de Roi
Sur l’odorante fleur qui naît ou meurt sous moi, ─

        N’arrêterais certes mon aile
        Sur une fleur qui n’est que belle,
Mon amour serait...