Poem Lake | The Greatest Poems of All Time

It Is in Winter That We Dream of Spring It is in Winter that we dream of Spring; For all the barren bleakness and the cold, The longing fancy sees the frozen mould Decked with sweet blossoming. Though all the birds be silent,—though The fettered stream’s soft voice be still, And... Poet: Robert Burns Wilson	The Dead Player Sure and exact,—the master’s quiet touch, Thus perfect, was his art; Ambitious, generous, sad, and loving much, Was his pain-haunted heart. To him, the blissful burthen of her love Did stern-browed Fortune give; In hell, in heaven, beneath... Poet: Robert Burns Wilson	To a Crow Bold, amiable, ebon outlaw, grave and wise! For many a good green year hast thou withstood— By dangerous, planted field and haunted wood— All the devices of thine enemies, Gleaning thy grudgëd bread with watchful eyes And self-relying soul. Come ill or... Poet: Robert Burns Wilson	The Sunrise of the Poor A darkened hut outlined against the sky, A forward-looking slope,—some cedar trees, Gaunt grasses stirred by the awaking breeze, And nearer, where the grayer shadows lie, Within a small paled square, one may descry The beds wherein the Poor first taste of... Poet: Robert Burns Wilson
Such Is the Death the Soldier Dies such is the death the soldier dies: He falls,—the column speeds away; Upon the dabbled grass he lies, His brave heart following, still, the fray. The smoke-wraiths drift among the trees, The battle storms along the hill; The glint of... Poet: Robert Burns Wilson	Ballad of the Faded Field Broad bars of sunset-slanted gold Are laid along the field, and here The silence sings, as if some old Refrain, that once rang long and clear, Came softly, stealing to the ear Without the aid of sound. The rill Is voiceless, and the grass... Poet: Robert Burns Wilson