Who long for rest, who look for pleasure Away from counter, court, or school O where live well your lease of leisure But here at, here at Penmaen Pool? ...
Pennarby shaft is dark and steep, Eight foot wide, eight hundred deep. Stout the bucket and tough the cord, Strong as the arm of Winchman Ford. 'Never look down! Stick to the line!'...
A few long-hoarded pennies in his hand Behold him stand; A kilted Hedonist, perplexed and sad. The joy that once he had, The first delight of ownership is fled. He bows his little head....
I lost my patronage in Spoon River From trying to put my mind in the camera To catch the soul of the person. The very best picture I ever took Was of Judge Somers, attorney at law....
Not with the splendors of the days of old, The spoil of nations, and barbaric gold; No weapons wrested from the fields of blood, Where dark and stern the unyielding Roman stood,...
Soulless is all humanity to me To-night. My keenest longing is to be Alone, alone with God's grey earth that seems Pulse of my pulse and consort of my dreams.
Pensive and faltering, The words, the dead, I write; For living are the Dead; (Haply the only living, only real, And I the apparition - I the spectre.)
Pensive, on her dead gazing, I heard the Mother of All, Desperate, on the torn bodies, on the forms covering the battle-fields gazing; (As the last gun ceased but the scent of the powder-smoke linger'd;)...
How sweetly on the wood-girt town The mellow light of sunset shone! Each small, bright lake, whose waters still Mirror the forest and the hill, Reflected from its waveless breast...
Above his misered embers, gnarled and gray, With toil-twitched limbs he bends; around his hut, Want, like a hobbling hag, goes night and day, Scolding at windows and at doors tight-shut.
There is no inn in Snowdon which is not awful dear, Excepting Pen-y-gwrydd (you can't pronounce it, dear), Which standeth in the meeting of noble valleys three - One is the vale of Gwynant, so well beloved by me,...
The great gold apples of night Hang from the street's long bough Dripping their light On the faces that drift below, On the faces that drift and blow Down the night-time, out of sight...
A canvas-back duck, rarely roasted, between us, A bottle of Chambertin, worthy of praise Less noble a wine at our age would bemean us A salad of celery en mayonnaise,...
Once I knew a noble peasant From a line of men large-hearted. Light and strength were in his mind, Lifted like a peak clear-lined O'er the valley in spring sunshine, First to feel the morning's beam,...
While I have vision, while the glowing-bodied, Drunken with light, untroubled clouds, with all this cold sphered sky, Are flushed above trees where the dew falls secretly,...
To spend uncounted years of pain, Again, again, and yet again, In working out in heart and brain The problem of our being here; To gather facts from far and near, Upon the mind to hold them clear,...
On the far hill the cloud of thunder grew And sunlight blurred below; but sultry blue Burned yet on the valley water where it hoards Behind the miller's elmen floodgate boards,...
To spend uncounted years of pain, Again, again, and yet again, In working out in heart and brain The problem of our being here; To gather facts from far and near, Upon the mind to hold them clear,...