In heaven Poem

In heaven | Poem by Stephen Crane

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In heaven,
Some little blades of grass
Stood before God.

“What did you do?”
Then all save one of the little blades
Began eagerly to relate
The merits of their lives.

This one stayed a small way behind,
Ashamed.

Presently, God said,
“And what did you do?”
The little blade answered, “Oh my Lord,
Memory is bitter to me,
For, if I did good deeds,
I know not of them.

Then God, in all His splendor,
Arose from His throne.

“Oh, best little blade of grass!” He said.

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Behold the grave of a wicked man Poem

Behold the grave of a wicked man | Poem by Stephen Crane

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Behold, the grave of a wicked man,
And near it, a stern spirit.

There came a drooping maid with violets,
But the spirit grasped her arm.

“No flowers for him,” he said.

The maid wept:
“Ah, I loved him.

But the spirit, grim and frowning:
“No flowers for him.

Now, this is it —
If the spirit was just,
Why did the maid weep?

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An Autumn Rain Scene Poem

An Autumn Rain-Scene | Poem by Thomas Hardy

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There trudges one to a merry-making
With sturdy swing,
On whom the rain comes down.

To fetch the saving medicament
Is another bent,
On whom the rain comes down.

One slowly drives his herd to the stall
Ere ill befall,
On whom the rain comes down.

This bears his missives of life and death
With quickening breath,
On whom the rain comes down.

One watches for signals of wreck or war
From the hill afar,
On whom the rain comes down.

No care if he gain a shelter or none,
Unhired moves on,
On whom the rain comes down.

And another knows nought of its chilling fall
Upon him aat all,
On whom the rain comes down.

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I saw a man pursuing the horizon Poem

I saw a man pursuing the horizon | Poem by Stephen Crane

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I saw a man pursuing the horizon;
Round and round they sped.

I was disturbed at this;
I accosted the man.

“It is futile,” I said,
“You can never -“

“You lie,” he cried,
And ran on.

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I Saw a Chapel Poem

I Saw a Chapel | Poem by William Blake

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I saw a chapel all of gold
That none did dare to enter in,
And many weeping stood without,
Weeping, mourning, worshipping.

I saw a serpent rise between
The white pillars of the door,
And he forc’d and forc’d and forc’d,
Down the golden hinges tore.

And along the pavement sweet,
Set with pearls and rubies bright,
All his slimy length he drew
Till upon the altar white

Vomiting his poison out
On the bread and on the wine.

So I turn’d into a sty
And laid me down among the swine.

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I Love The Naked Ages Long Ago Poem

I Love The Naked Ages Long Ago | Poem by Charles Baudelaire

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I love the naked ages long ago
When statues were gilded by Apollo,
When men and women of agility
Could play without lies and anxiety,
And the sky lovingly caressed their spines,
As it exercised its noble machine.

Fertile Cybele, mother of nature, then,
Would not place on her daughters a burden,
But, she-wolf sharing her heart with the people,
Would feed creation from her brown nipples.

Men, elegant and strong, would have the right
To be proud to have beauty named their king;
Virgin fruit free of blemish and cracking,
Whose flesh smooth and firm would summon a bite!
The Poet today, when he would convey
This native grandeur, would not be swept away
By man free and woman natural,
But would feel darkness envelop his soul
Before this black tableau full of loathing.

O malformed monsters crying for clothing!
O ludicrous heads! Torsos needing disguise!
O poor writhing bodies of every wrong size,
Children that the god of the Useful swaths
In the language of bronze and brass!
And women, alas! You shadow your heredity,
You gnaw nourishment from debauchery,
A virgin holds maternal lechery
And all the horrors of fecundity!

We have, it is true, corrupt nations,
Beauty unknown to the radiant ancients:
Faces that gnaw through the heart’s cankers,
And talk with the cool beauty of languor;
But these inventions of our backward muses
Are never hindered in their morbid uses
Of the old for profound homage to youth,
?To the young saint, the sweet air, the simple truth,
To the eye as limpid as the water current,
To spread out over all, insouciant
Like the blue sky, the birds and the flowers,
Its perfumes, its songs and its sweet fervors.

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I met a seer Poem

I met a seer | Poem by Stephen Crane

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I met a seer.

He held in his hands
The book of wisdom.

“Sir,” I addressed him,
“Let me read.

“Child — ” he began.

“Sir,” I said,
“Think not that I am a child,
For already I know much
Of that which you hold.

Aye, much.

He smiled.

Then he opened the book
And held it before me.

Strange that I should have grown so suddenly blind.

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I Rose Up at the Dawn of Day Poem

I Rose Up at the Dawn of Day | Poem by William Blake

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I rose up at the dawn of day–
`Get thee away! get thee away!
Pray’st thou for riches? Away! away!
This is the Throne of Mammon grey.

Said I: This, sure, is very odd;
I took it to be the Throne of God.

For everything besides I have:
It is only for riches that I can crave.

I have mental joy, and mental health,
And mental friends, and mental wealth;
I’ve a wife I love, and that loves me;
I’ve all but riches bodily.

I am in God’s presence night and day,
And He never turns His face away;
The accuser of sins by my side doth stand,
And he holds my money-bag in his hand.

For my worldly things God makes him pay,
And he’d pay for more if to him I would pray;
And so you may do the worst you can do;
Be assur’d, Mr.
Devil, I won’t pray to you.

Then if for riches I must not pray,
God knows, I little of prayers need say;
So, as a church is known by its steeple,
If I pray it must be for other people.

He says, if I do not worship him for a God,
I shall eat coarser food, and go worse shod;
So, as I don’t value such things as these,
You must do, Mr.
Devil, just as God please.

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I looked here Poem

I looked here | Poem by Stephen Crane

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I looked here;
I looked there;
Nowhere could I see my love.

And — this time —
She was in my heart.

Truly, then, I have no complaint,
For though she be fair and fairer,
She is none so fair as she
In my heart.

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CONTEMPLATION Poem

CONTEMPLATION | Poem by Charles Baudelaire

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THOU, O my Grief, be wise and tranquil still,
The eve is thine which even now drops down,
To carry peace or care to human will,
And in a misty veil enfolds the town.

While the vile mortals of the multitude,
By pleasure, cruel tormentor, goaded on,
Gather remorseful blossoms in light mood–
Grief, place thy hand in mine, let us be gone

Far from them.
Lo, see how the vanished years,
In robes outworn lean over heaven’s rim;
And from the water, smiling through her tears,

Remorse arises, and the sun grows dim;
And in the east, her long shroud trailing light,
List, O my grief, the gentle steps of Night.

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Change Upon Change Poem

Change Upon Change | Poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

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Five months ago the stream did flow,
The lilies bloomed within the sedge,
And we were lingering to and fro,
Where none will track thee in this snow,
Along the stream, beside the hedge.

Ah, Sweet, be free to love and go!
For if I do not hear thy foot,
The frozen river is as mute,
The flowers have dried down to the root:
And why, since these be changed since May,
Shouldst thou change less than they.

And slow, slow as the winter snow
The tears have drifted to mine eyes;
And my poor cheeks, five months ago
Set blushing at thy praises so,
Put paleness on for a disguise.

Ah, Sweet, be free to praise and go!
For if my face is turned too pale,
It was thine oath that first did fail, —
It was thy love proved false and frail, —
And why, since these be changed enow,
Should I change less than thou.

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Black riders came from the sea Poem

Black riders came from the sea | Poem by Stephen Crane

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Black riders came from the sea.

There was clang and clang of spear and shield,
And clash and clash of hoof and heel,
Wild shouts and the wave of hair
In the rush upon the wind:
Thus the ride of sin.

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A Time to Talk Poem

A Time to Talk | Poem by Robert Frost

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When a friend calls to me from the road
And slows his horse to a meaning walk,
I don’t stand still and look around
On all the hills I haven’t hoed,
And shout from where I am, ‘What is it?’
No, not as there is a time talk.

I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground,
Blade-end up and five feet tall,
And plod: I go up to the stone wall
For a friendly visit.

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