Poem Lake | Page 530 | The Greatest Poems of All Time

The Judge is like the Owl — The Judge is like the Owl — I've heard my Father tell — And Owls do build in Oaks — So here's an Amber Sill — That slanted in my Path — When going to the Barn — And if it serve You for a House —... Poet:	The Juggler's Hat her Country is — The Juggler's Hat her Country is — The Mountain Gorse — the Bee's! Poet:	The Lady feeds Her little Bird The Lady feeds Her little Bird At rarer intervals — The little Bird would not dissent But meekly recognize The Gulf between the Hand and Her And crumbless and afar And fainting, on Her yellow Knee... Poet:	The largest Fire ever known The largest Fire ever known Occurs each Afternoon — Discovered is without surprise Proceeds without concern — Consumes and no report to men An Occidental Town, Rebuilt another morning To be... Poet:
The last Night that She lived She mentioned, and forgot; Then lightly as a reed Bent to the water, shivered scarce, Consented, and was dead. And we, we placed the hair, And drew the head erect; And then an awful leisure was,... Poet:	The last of Summer is Delight — The last of Summer is Delight — Deterred by Retrospect. 'Tis Ecstasy's revealed Review — Enchantment's Syndicate. To meet it — nameless as it is — Without celestial Mail — Audacious as without a... Poet:	The Life that tied too tight escapes The Life that tied too tight escapes Will ever after run With a prudential look behind And spectres of the Rein — The Horse that scents the living Grass And sees the Pastures smile Will be retaken with a... Poet:	The Life we have is very great. The Life we have is very great. The Life that we shall see Surpasses it, we know, because It is Infinity. But when all Space has been beheld And all Dominion shown The smallest Human Heart's extent ... Poet:
The Lightning is a yellow Fork The Lightning is a yellow Fork From Tables in the sky By inadvertent fingers dropt The awful Cutlery Of mansions never quite disclosed And never quite concealed The Apparatus of the Dark ... Poet:	The Lightning playeth — all the while — The Lightning playeth — all the while — But when He singeth — then — Ourselves are conscious He exist — And we approach Him — stern — With Insulators — and a Glove — Whose short — sepulchral Bass ... Poet: