Search Results for: poetry at work

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems A Clock Stopped- Not The Mantel’s A clock stopped — not the mantel’s Geneva’s farthest skill Can’t put the puppet bowing That just now dangled still. An awe came on the trinket! The figures hunched with pain, Then quivered out of decimals Into degreeless noon. It will not stir […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems I’m Nobody, Who Are You? I’m nobody! Who are you? Are you nobody, too? Then there’s a pair of us — don’t tell! They’d banish — you know! How dreary to be somebody! How public like a frog To tell one’s name the livelong day To an admiring bog! […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems A Dying Tiger Moaned for a Drink A Dying Tiger—moaned for Drink— I hunted all the Sand— I caught the Dripping of a Rock And bore it in my Hand— His Mighty Balls—in death were thick— But searching—I could see A Vision on the Retina Of Water—and of me— […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems Because I Could Not Stop For Death Because I could not stop for Death- He kindly stopped for me- The Carriage held but just Ourselves- And Immortality. We slowly drove- He knew no haste And I had put away My labor and my leisure too, For His Civility- We […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems A Bird Came Down the Walk A bird came down the walk: He did not know I saw; He bit an angle-worm in halves And ate the fellow, raw. And then he drank a dew From a convenient grass, And then hopped sidewise to the wall To let a […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems Heaven Is What I Cannot Reach “Heaven”—is what I cannot reach! The Apple on the Tree— Provided it do hopeless—hang— That—”Heaven” is—to Me! The Color, on the Cruising Cloud— The interdicted Land— Behind the Hill—the House behind— There—Paradise—is found! Her teasing Purples—Afternoons— The credulous—decoy— Enamored—of the Conjuror— That spurned […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems Nature Is What We See ‘Nature’ is what we see— The Hill—the Afternoon— Squirrel—Eclipse—the Bumble bee— Nay—Nature is Heaven— Nature is what we hear— The Bobolink—the Sea— Thunder—the Cricket— Nay—Nature is Harmony— Nature is what we know— Yet have no art to say— So impotent Our Wisdom is To […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems “Why Do I Love” You, Sir? “Why do I love” You, Sir? Because— The Wind does not require the Grass To answer—Wherefore when He pass She cannot keep Her place. Because He knows—and Do not You— And We know not— Enough for Us The Wisdom it be so— The […]

< Return to Emily Dickinson Poems Hope Is The Thing With Feathers ‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers— That perches in the soul— And sings the tune without the words— And never stops—at all— And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard— And sore must be the storm— That could abash the little Bird That kept so many […]

< Return to all Wordsworth poems To A Butterfly Stay near me—do not take thy flight! A little longer stay in sight! Much converse do I find I thee, Historian of my infancy ! Float near me; do not yet depart! Dead times revive in thee: Thou bring’st, gay creature as thou art! A solemn […]

< Return to all Wordsworth poems The World Is Too Much With Us The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! This Sea that bares her bosom to […]

< Return to all Wordsworth poems The Sun Has Long Been Set The sun has long been set, The stars are out by twos and threes, The little birds are piping yet Among the bushes and the trees; There’s a cuckoo, and one or two thrushes, And a far-off wind that rushes, And a sound […]

< Return to all Wordsworth poems The Stars Are Mansions Built By Nature’s Hand The stars are mansions built by Nature’s hand, And, haply, there the spirits of the blest Dwell, clothed in radiance, their immortal vest; Huge Ocean shows, within his yellow strand, A habitation marvellously planned, For life to occupy in love and […]

< Return to all Wordsworth poems The Solitary Reaper Behold her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain; O listen! for the Vale profound Is overflowing with the sound. No Nightingale did […]

< Return to all Wordsworth poems The Green Linnet Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed Their snow-white blossoms on my head, With brightest sunshine round me spread Of spring’s unclouded weather, In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard-seat! And birds and flowers once more to greet, My last year’s friends together. […]

< Return to all Wordsworth poems The Eagle and the Dove Shade of Caractacus, if spirits love The cause they fought for in their earthly home To see the Eagle ruffled by the Dove May soothe thy memory of the chains of Rome. These children claim thee for their sire; the breath Of thy renown, […]

< Return to all Wordsworth poems The Childless Father ‘Up, Timothy, up with your staff and away! Not a soul in the village this morning will stay; The hare has just started from Hamilton’s grounds, And Skiddaw is glad with the cry of the hounds.’ –Of coats and of jackets grey, scarlet, and green, On […]