Poem Lake | The Greatest Poems of All Time

Ah, God, the way your little finger moved Ah, God, the way your little finger moved As you thrust a bare arm backward And made play with your hair And a comb a silly gilt comb Ah, God—that I should suffer Because of the way a little finger moved. Poet: Stephen Crane	It's Such a Little Thing It's such a little thing to weep, So short a thing to sigh; And yet by trades the size of these We men and women die! Poet: Emily Dickinson	Little Boy Blue The little toy dog is covered with dust, But sturdy and stanch he stands; And the little toy soldier is red with rust, And his musket moulds in his hands. Time was when the little toy dog was new, And the soldier was passing fair; And that... Poet: Eugene Field	On the Death of Little Mahala Ashcraft “little haly! Little Haly!” cheeps the robin in the tree; “Little Haly!” sighs the clover, “Little Haly!” moans the bee; “Little Haly! Little Haly!” calls the kill-deer at twilight; And the katydids and crickets hollers “Haly!” all the night. The sunflowers and... Poet: James Whitcomb Riley
Little Orphant Annie Little orphant Annie ’s come to our house to stay, An’ wash the cups and saucers up, an’ brush the crumbs away, An’ shoo the chickens off the porch, an’ dust the hearth, an’ sweep, An’ make the fire, an’ bake the bread, an’ earn her board-an’-keep; An’ all us... Poet: James Whitcomb Riley	Little Feet Two little feet, so small that both may nestle In one caressing hand,— Two tender feet upon the untried border Of life’s mysterious land. Dimpled, and soft, and pink as peach-tree blossoms, In April’s fragrant days, ... Poet: Elizabeth Akers Allen	Little Orphant Annie Little Orphant Annie ’s come to our house to stay, An’ wash the cups and saucers up, an’ brush the crumbs away, An’ shoo the chickens off the porch, an’ dust the hearth, an’ sweep, An’ make the fire, an’ bake the bread, an’ earn her board-an’-keep; An’ all us... Poet: James Whitcomb Riley	“There was a little girl” There was a little girl, And she had a little curl Right in the middle of her forehead. When she was good She was very, very good, And when she was bad she was horrid. One day she went upstairs, When her parents, unawares, ... Poet: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The Little Beach Bird Thou little bird, thou dweller by the sea, Why takest thou its melancholy voice? Why with that brooding cry O’er the waves dost thou fly? O, rather, bird, with me Through the fair land rejoice! Thy flitting form comes ghostly dim... Poet: Richard Henry Dana, Sr.	On Hearing a little Music-Box HALLO!—what?—where, what can it be That strikes up so deliciously? I never in my life—what? no! That little tin box playing so? It really seemed as if a sprite Had struck among us swift and light, And come from some minuter star To treat us... Poet: Leigh Hunt