The Little Black Boy by William Blake My mother bore me in the southern wild, And I am black, but O! my soul is white; White as an angel is the English child: But I am black as if bereav’d…
Tag: poem analysis
Beat! Beat! Drums!
Beat! Beat! Drums! by Walt Whitman Beat! beat! drums!—blow! bugles! blow! Through the windows—through doors—burst like a ruthless force, Into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation, Into the school where the scholar is studying, Leave not the bridegroom quiet—no…
Huswifery
Huswifery by Edward Taylor Make me, O Lord, thy Spining Wheele compleate. Thy Holy Worde my Distaff make for mee. Make mine Affections thy Swift Flyers neate And make my Soule thy holy Spoole to bee. My conversation make to…
The Gift
The Gift by Li-Young Lee To pull the metal splinter from my palm my father recited a story in a low voice. I watched his lovely face and not the blade. Before the story ended, he’d removed the iron sliver…
Nikki-Rosa
Nikki-Rosa by Nikki Giovanni childhood remembrances are always a drag if you’re Black you always remember things like living in Woodlawn with no inside toilet and if you become famous or something they never talk about how happy you were…
Sonnet 138
Sonnet 138 by William Shakespeare When my love swears that she is made of truth, I do believe her, though I know she lies, That she might think me some untutored youth, Unlearned in the world’s false subtleties. Thus vainly…
Darkness
Darkness by Lord Byron I had a dream, which was not all a dream. The bright sun was extinguish’d, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space, Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth Swung blind and blackening…
Sonnet 55: Not Marble nor the Gilded Monuments
Sonnet 55: Not Marble nor the Gilded Monuments by William Shakespeare Not marble nor the gilded monuments Of princes shall outlive this powerful rhyme, But you shall shine more bright in these contents Than unswept stone besmeared with sluttish time.…
The Flower
The Flower by George Herbert How fresh, oh Lord, how sweet and clean Are thy returns! even as the flowers in spring; To which, besides their own demean, The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring. Grief melts away Like snow…
The Song of Wandering Aengus
The Song of Wandering Aengus by William Butler Yeats I went out to the hazel wood, Because a fire was in my head, And cut and peeled a hazel wand, And hooked a berry to a thread; And when white…
Verses upon the Burning of Our House
Verses upon the Burning of our House, July 10th, 1666 by Anne Bradstreet In silent night when rest I took, For sorrow near I did not look, I wakened was with thund’ring noise And piteous shrieks of dreadful voice. That…
Facing It
Facing It by Youssef Komunyakaa My black face fades, hiding inside the black granite. I said I wouldn’t dammit: No tears. I’m stone. I’m flesh. My clouded reflection eyes me like a bird of prey, the profile of night slanted…
A Narrow Fellow in the Grass
A Narrow Fellow in the Grass by Emily Dickinson A narrow Fellow in the grass Occasionally rides – You may have met him? Did you not His notice instant is – The grass divides as with a Comb, A spotted…
Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood
Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood by William Wordsworth The child is father of the man; And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety. (Wordsworth, ‘My Heart Leaps Up’) There…
Abou Ben Adhem
Abou Ben Adhem by Leigh Hunt Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!) Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw, within the moonlight in his room, Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, An…
The Man He Killed
The Man He Killed by Thomas Hardy “Had he and I but met By some old ancient inn, We should have sat us down to wet Right many a nipperkin! “But ranged as infantry, And staring face to face, I…
We Are Seven
We Are Seven by William Wordsworth ———A simple Child, That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb, What should it know of death? I met a little cottage Girl: She was eight years old, she said;…
On My First Son
On My First Son by Ben Johnson Farewell, thou child of my right hand, and joy; My sin was too much hope of thee, lov’d boy. Seven years tho’ wert lent to me, and I thee pay, Exacted by thy…
Power
Warning: The poem has profanity and graphic description of violence. Hence it is not suitable for children under 16. Power by Audre Lorde The difference between poetry and rhetoric is being ready to kill yourself instead of your children. I…
Some Keep the Sabbath Going to Church
Some Keep the Sabbath Going to Church by Emily Dickinson Some keep the sabbath going to church – I keep it, staying at home – With a Bobolink for a Chorister – And an Orchard, for a Dome – Some…