Poem Lake | The Greatest Poems of All Time

Lydia Break forth, break forth, O Sudbury town, And bid your yards be gay Up all your gusty streets and down, For Lydia comes to-day! I hear it on the wharves below; And if I buy or sell, The good folk as they churchward go Have only... Poet: Lizette Woodworth Reese	Anne Her eyes be like the violets, Ablow in Sudbury lane; When she doth smile, her face is sweet As blossoms after rain; With grief I think of my gray hairs, And wish me young again. In comes she through the dark old door Upon this... Poet: Lizette Woodworth Reese	Daffodils Fathered by March, the daffodils are here. First, all the air grew keen with yesterday, And once a thrush from out some hollow gray On a field’s edge, where whitening stalks made cheer, Fluted the last unto the budding year; Now that the wind lets loose... Poet: Lizette Woodworth Reese	Tears When i consider Life and its few years— A wisp of fog betwixt us and the sun; A call to battle, and the battle done Ere the last echo dies within our ears; A rose choked in the grass; an hour of fears; The gusts that past a darkening shore do beat;... Poet: Lizette Woodworth Reese
Immortality Battles nor songs can from oblivion save, But Fame upon a white deed loves to build: From out that cup of water Sidney gave, Not one drop has been spilled. Poet: Lizette Woodworth Reese	Thomas a Kempis Brother of mine, good monk with cowlëd head, Walled from that world which thou hast long since fled, And pacing thy green close beyond the sea, I send my heart to thee. Down gust-sweet walks, bordered by lavender, While eastward, westward, the mad... Poet: Lizette Woodworth Reese	Telling the Bees Bathsheba came out to the sun, Out to our wallëd cherry-trees; The tears adown her cheek did run, Bathsheba standing in the sun, Telling the bees. My mother had that moment died; Unknowing, sped I to the trees, And plucked Bathsheba’s... Poet: Lizette Woodworth Reese	In Time of Grief Dark, thinned, beside the wall of stone, The box dripped in the air; Its odor through my house was blown Into the chamber there. Remote and yet distinct the scent, The sole thing of the kind, As though one spoke a word half meant That... Poet: Lizette Woodworth Reese
To a Town Poet Snatch the departing mood; Make yours its emptying reed, and pipe us still Faith in the time, faith in our common blood, Faith in the least of good: Song cannot fail if these its spirits fill! What if your heritage be The huddled trees along the... Poet: Lizette Woodworth Reese	Trust I am Thy grass, O Lord! I grow up sweet and tall But for a day, beneath Thy sword To lie at evenfall. Yet have I not enough In that brief day of mine? The wind, the bees, the wholesome stuff The sun pours out like wine. ... Poet: Lizette Woodworth Reese