Thou two-faced year, Mother of Change and Fate, Didst weep when Spain cast forth with flaming sword, The children of the prophets of the Lord, Prince, priest, and people, spurned by zealot hate....
Ye Bards in all your thousand dens, Great souls with fewer pence than pens, Sublime adorers of Apollo, With folios full, and purses hollow; Whose very souls with rapture glisten,...
Arm'd year! year of the struggle! No dainty rhymes or sentimental love verses for you, terrible year! Not you as some pale poetling, seated at a desk, lisping cadenzas piano;...
Now, Yankee inventors can beat a retreat, And German professors may take a back seat, For their colours we're going to lower: They've invented a wonderful plough in the West,...
I've watched the Seasons passing slow, so slow, In the fields between La Bass'e and Bethune; Primroses and the first warm day of Spring, Red poppy floods of June, August, and yellowing Autumn, so...
John Dillinger and Baby-Faced Nelson in a dream together - one shooting holes thru theories of his untimely death, the other frying in an old-time (e) Electric Chair with balloons waving, bonbons...
My young son asks me: Must I learn mathematics? What is the use, I feel like saying. That two pieces Of bread are more than one's about all you'll end up with. My young son asks me: Must I learn French?...
The sextant of the meetinouse, which sweeps And dusts, or is supposed too! and makes fiers, And lites the gas and sometimes leaves a screw loose, in which case it smells orful - worse than lampile;...
Better than granite, Spoon River, Is the memory-picture you keep of me Standing before the pioneer men and women There at Concord Church on Communion day. Speaking in broken voice of the peasant youth...
Like Bunyan's pilgrim with his pack, Forth went the dreaming youth To seek, to find, and make his own Wisdom, virtue, and truth. Life was his book, and patiently He studied each hard page;...
As a drenched, drowned bee Hangs numb and heavy from a bending flower, So clings to me My baby, her brown hair brushed with wet tears And laid against her cheek;...
I knew that a baby was hid in the house; Though I saw no cradle and heard no cry, But the husband went tiptoeing round like a mouse, And the good wife was humming a soft lullaby;...
When the bare feet of the baby beat across the grass The little white feet nod like white flowers in the wind, They poise and run like ripples lapping across the water;...
A little white soul went up to God, Out of the mire of the city street; It grew like a flower in the highway broad, Close to the trample of heedless feet.