Poem Lake | Page 3 | The Greatest Poems of All Time

From the "Commemoration Ode" Washington when dreaming kings, at odds with swift paced time, Would strike that banner down, A nobler knight than ever writ or rhyme With fame’s bright wreath did crown Through armed hosts bore it till it floated high Beyond the clouds, a light... Poet: Harriet Monroe	In the Beginning When sunshine met the wave, Then love was born; Then Venus rose to save A world forlorn. For light a thousand wings Of joy unfurled, And bound with golden rings The icy world. And color flamed the earth With... Poet: Harriet Monroe	The Fortunate One Beside her ashen hearth she sate her down, Whence he she loved had fled,— His children plucking at her sombre gown And calling for the dead. One came to her clad in the robes of May, And said sweet words of cheer, Bidding her bear the... Poet: Harriet Monroe	The Night-Blooming Cereus flower of the moon! Still white is her brow whom we worshiped on earth long ago; Yea, purer than pearls in deep seas, and more virgin than snow. The dull years veil their eyes from her shining, and vanish afraid, Nor profane her with age—the immortal, nor dim... Poet: Harriet Monroe
A Farewell Good-by: nay, do not grieve that it is over— The perfect hour; That the winged joy, sweet honey-loving rover, Flits from the flower. Grieve not,—it is the law. Love will be flying— Yea, love and all. Glad was the living; blessed be the... Poet: Harriet Monroe	Luke Havergal Go to the western gate, Luke Havergal,— There where the vines cling crimson on the wall,— And in the twilight wait for what will come. The wind will moan, the leaves will whisper some,— Whisper of her, and strike you as they fall; But go, and if you trust... Poet: Edwin Arlington Robinson	Ballade of Dead Friends As we the withered ferns By the roadway lying, Time, the jester, spurns All our prayers and prying— All our tears and sighing, Sorrow, change, and woe— All our where-and-whying For friends that come and go. Life... Poet: Edwin Arlington Robinson	The Clerks I Did not think that I should find them there When I came back again; but there they stood, As in the days they dreamed of when young blood Was in their cheeks and women called them fair. Be sure, they met me with an ancient air,— And, yes, there was a... Poet: Edwin Arlington Robinson
The Pity of the Leaves Vengeful across the cold November moors, Loud with ancestral shame there came the bleak, Sad wind that shrieked, and answered with a shriek, Reverberant through lonely corridors. The old man heard it; and he heard, perforce, Words out of lips that were no... Poet: Edwin Arlington Robinson	The House on the Hill They are all gone away, The House is shut and still, There is nothing more to say. Through broken walls and gray The winds blow bleak and shrill: They are all gone away. Nor is there one to-day To speak them good or ill:... Poet: Edwin Arlington Robinson