Laura By Petrarch Translated by Pierre F. Goodrich Again with gladsome feet Zephyr returns Mid grass and flowers, his goodly family And Procne chatters, Philomela mourns, While Spring comes forth in all her finery. The meadows laugh; the skies are…
Tag: poem analysis
Kicking the Habit
Kicking the Habit By Lawson Fusao Inada Late last night, I decided to stop using English. I had been using it all day – taking all day, listening all day, thinking all day, reading all day, remembering all day, feeling…
Jimmy Jet and His TV Set
Jimmy Jet and His TV Set By Shel Silverstein I’ll tell you the story of Jimmy Jet — And you know what I tell you is true. He loved to watch his TV set Almost as much as you. He…
Lammas Hireling
Lammas Hireling By Ian Duhig After the fair, I’d still a light heart and a heavy purse, he struck so cheap. And cattle doted on him: in his time mine only dropped heifers, fat as cream. Yields doubled. I grew…
January
January By John Updike The days are short, The sun a spark, Hung thin between The dark and dark. Fat snowy footsteps Track the floor. Milk bottles burst Outside the door. The river is A frozen place Held still beneath…
First Love
First Love By John Clare I ne’er was struck before that hour With love so sudden and so sweet, Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower And stole my heart away complete. My face turned pale as deadly pale,…
Bread
Bread By Kamau Brathwaite Slowly the white dream wrestle(s) to life hands shaping the salt and the foreign cornfields the cold flesh kneaded by fingers is ready for the charcoal for the black wife of heat the years of green…
Eden Rock
Eden Rock By Charles Causley They are waiting for me somewhere beyond Eden Rock: My father, twenty-five, in the same suit Of Genuine Irish Tweed, his terrier Jack Still two years old and trembling at his feet. My mother, twenty-three,…
Follower
Follower By Seamus Heaney My father worked with a horse-plough, His shoulders globed like a full sail strung Between the shafts and the furrow. The horses strained at his clicking tongue. An expert. He would set the wing And fit…
Five O’Clock Shadow
Five O’Clock Shadow By John Betjeman This is the time of day when we in the Men’s ward Think “one more surge of the pain and I give up the fight.” When he who struggles for breath can struggle less…
First Day After The War
First Day After The War By Mazisi Kunene We heard the songs of a wedding party. We saw a soft light Coiling round the young blades of grass At first we hesitated, then we saw her footprints, Her face emerged,…
Fireflies In The Garden
Fireflies In The Garden By Robert Frost Here come real stars to fill the upper skies, And here on earth come emulating flies, That though they never equal stars in size, (And they were never really stars at heart) Achieve…
Examination at the Womb Door
Examination at the Womb Door By Ted Hughes Who owns those scrawny little feet? Death. Who owns this bristly scorched-looking face? Death. Who owns these still-working lungs? Death. Who owns this utility coat of muscles? Death.…
I Ask My Mother to Sing
I Ask My Mother to Sing By Li-Young Lee She begins, and my grandmother joins her. Mother and daughter sing like young girls. If my father were alive, he would play his accordion and sway like a boat. I’ve never…
egg horror
egg horror By Laurel Winter Small White Afraid of heights Whispering in the cold, dark cartoon To the rest of the dozen. They are ten now. Any meal is dangerous. but they fear breakfast most. They jostle in their compartments…
Edward, Edward
Edward, Edward (A Scottish Ballad) By Anonymous ‘Why does your sword so drip with blood, Edward, Edward? Why does your sword so drip with blood? And why so sad are ye, O?’ ‘O, I have killed my hawk so good,…
Disembarking at Quebec
Disembarking at Quebec By Margaret Atwood Is it my clothes, my way of walking, the things I carry in my hand – a book, a bag with knitting- the incongruous pink of my shawl this space cannot hear or is…
London, 1802
London, 1802 By William Wordsworth Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour: England hath need of thee: she is a fen Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their…
How Do I Love Thee?
How Do I Love Thee? By Elizabeth Barrett Browning How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the…
The Harlem Dancer
The Harlem Dancer By Claude McKay Applauding youths laughed with young prostitutes And watched her perfect, half-clothed body sway; Her voice was like the sound of blended flutes Blown by black players upon a picnic day. She sang and danced…