(1)Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
By Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer,
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
Hi gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely ,dark, and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
By Eve Merriem
A new sheet of paper
For you to write on.
Whatever you want to say,
Folds it up
And files it away.
The bright words and the dark words
And a new day
To write on.
(3) Holy Sonets
By John Donne
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for ou art not so;
For those whom you think’st. Thou dosts overthrow
Die not, poor Death; nor yet canst thou kill me,
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure, then form thee much more must flow;
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dots with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke; why swell’st. Thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more:
Death thou shalt die.
(4) The Eagle
By Lord Tennyson
He clasps the crag with croocked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ringed with the azure world, he tands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.
(5) The Road not Taken
by Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And Sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked dwon one as for as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better clain,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had wordn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In Leaves no step had trodden back
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to my way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence;
Two roads diverged in a wood, and
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
(6) There is No Frigate Like a Book
By Emily Dickinson
There is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away,
Nor any courses like a page
Of prancing poetry:
This traverse mya the poorest take
Without oppress of toll;
How frugal is the chariot
That bears the human soul.
(7) The Raven
By Edgar Allan Poe
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “Tapping at my chamber door
Only this and nothing more.”
(8) My Heart Leaps up
By William Wordsworth
My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
The child is father of the Man.
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.
By William Wordsworth
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils,
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continous s the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced, but they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay
In such a jocund company!
I gazed- and gazed- but little thought
What wealth the show to me ahd brought.
For oft when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude.
And then my heart with pleasure fills.
And dances with the daffodils.