Poem Lake | Page 2 | The Greatest Poems of All Time

“Keep sweet and keep movin’” Homely phrase of our southland bright— Keep steady step to the flam of the drum; Touch to the left—eyes to the right— Sing with the soul tho’ the lips be dumb. Hard to be good when the wind ’s in the east; Hard to be gay when the heart is down;... Poet: Robert Jones Burdette	Sweet Nature’s Voice From “Susan: A Poem of Degrees” HER Master gave the signal, with a look: Then, timidly as if afraid, she took In her rough hands the Laureate’s dainty book, And straight began. But when she did begin, Her own mute sense of poesy within Broke forth... Poet: Arthur Joseph Munby	Frigid and sweet Her parting Face — Frigid and sweet Her parting Face — Frigid and fleet my Feet — Alien and vain whatever Clime Acrid whatever Fate. Given to me without the Suit Riches and Name and Realm — Who was She to withhold from... Poet:	Her Sweet turn to leave the Homestead Her Sweet turn to leave the Homestead Came the Darker Way — Carriages — Be Sure — and Guests — too — But for Holiday 'Tis more pitiful Endeavor Than did Loaded Sea O'er the Curls attempt to caper... Poet:
I could not drink it, Sweet, I could not drink it, Sweet, Till You had tasted first, Though cooler than the Water was The Thoughtfullness of Thirst. Poet:	No matter — now — Sweet — No matter — now — Sweet — But when I'm Earl — Won't you wish you'd spoken To that dull Girl? Trivial a Word — just — Trivial — a Smile — But won't you wish you'd spared one When I'm Earl... Poet:	Oh give it Motion — deck it sweet Oh give it Motion — deck it sweet With Artery and Vein — Upon its fastened Lips lay words — Affiance it again To that Pink stranger we call Dust — Acquainted more with that Than with this horizontal one... Poet:	Ourselves we do inter with sweet derision. Ourselves we do inter with sweet derision. The channel of the dust who once achieves Invalidates the balm of that religion That doubts as fervently as it believes. Poet:
Sweet hours have perished here; Sweet hours have perished here, This is a timid room - Within it's precints hopes have played Now shadows in the tomb. Poet:	Sweet meat has sour sauce Poet: