Poem Lake | Page 7 | The Greatest Poems of All Time

How happy is the little Stone How happy is the little Stone That rambles in the Road alone, And doesn't care about Careers And Exigencies never fears — Whose Coat of elemental Brown A passing Universe put on, And independent as the Sun... Poet:	I Begged a Kiss of a Little Maid I begged a kiss of a little maid; Shyly, sweetly, she consented; Then of a sudden, all afraid, After she gave it, she repented; And now as penance for that one kiss ... Poet:	I cautious, scanned my little life — I cautious, scanned my little life — I winnowed what would fade From what would last till Heads like mine Should be a-dreaming laid. I put the latter in a Barn — The former, blew away. I went one... Poet:	I prayed, at first, a little Girl, I prayed, at first, a little Girl, Because they told me to — But stopped, when qualified to guess How prayer would feel — to me — If I believed God looked around, Each time my Childish eye Fixed full... Poet:
I'm the little "Heart's Ease"! I'm the little "Heart's Ease"! I don't care for pouting skies! If the Butterfly delay Can I, therefore, stay away? If the Coward Bumble Bee In his chimney corner stay, I, must resoluter be! ... Poet:	It's such a little thing to weep — 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:	Its little Ether Hood Its little Ether Hood Doth sit upon its Head — The millinery supple Of the sagacious God — Till when it slip away A nothing at a time — And Dandelion's Drama Expires in a stem. ... Poet:	My Heart upon a little Plate My Heart upon a little Plate Her Palate to delight A Berry or a Bun, would be, Might it an Apricot! Poet:
Nobody knows this little Rose — Nobody knows this little Rose. It might a pilgrim be Did I not take it from the ways And lift it up to Thee. - Only a Bee will miss it - Only a Butterfly, Hastening from far journey On it's... Poet:	Our little Kinsmen — after Rain Our little Kinsmen — after Rain In plenty may be seen, A Pink and Pulpy multitude The tepid Ground upon. A needless life, it seemed to me Until a little Bird As to a Hospitality Advanced... Poet: