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by
Regina Derieva
All My Life
All my life
I sought
an angel.
And he appeared
in order to say:
"I am no angel !"
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by
Robert Herrick
UPON TEARS
Tears, though they're here below the sinner's brine,
Above, they are the Angels' spiced wine.
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by
Robert Burns
471. Epigram on Jessy Staig’s recovery
MAXWELL, if merit here you crave,
That merit I deny;
You save fair Jessie from the grave!—
An Angel could not die!
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by
Robert Burns
170. Epigram to Miss Ainslie in Church
FAIR maid, you need not take the hint,
Nor idle texts pursue:
’Twas guilty sinners that he meant,
Not Angels such as you.
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by
Emily Dickinson
Who has not found the Heaven -- below --
Who has not found the Heaven -- below --
Will fail of it above --
For Angels rent the House next ours,
Wherever we remove --
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by
Anthony Hecht
Paradise Lost Book 5: An Epitome
Higgledy piggeldy
Archangel Rafael,
Speaking of Satan's re-
Bellion from God:
"Chap was decidedly
Turgiversational,
Given to lewdness and
Rodomontade."
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by
Herman Melville
Healed of My Hurt
Healed of my hurt, I laud the inhuman Sea--
Yea, bless the Angels Four that there convene;
For healed I am even by the pitiless breath
Distilled in wholesome dew named rosmarine.
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by
Emily Dickinson
Soul, Wilt thou toss again?
Soul, Wilt thou toss again?
By just such a hazard
Hundreds have lost indeed --
But tens have won an all --
Angel's breathless ballot
Lingers to record thee --
Imps in eager Caucus
Raffle for my Soul!
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by
Emily Dickinson
I never lost as much but twice
I never lost as much but twice,
And that was in the sod.
Twice have I stood a beggar
Before the door of God!
Angels -- twice descending
Reimbursed my store --
Burglar! Banker -- Father!
I am poor once more!
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by
Kathleen Raine
Harvest
Day is the hero's shield,
Achilles' field,
The light days are the angels.
We the seed.
Against eternal light and gorgon's face
Day is the shield
And we the grass
Native to fields of iron, and skies of brass.
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by
Richard Brautigan
The Beautiful Poem
I go to bed in Los Angeles thinking
about you.
Pissing a few moments ago
I looked down at my penis
affectionately.
Knowing it has been inside
you twice today makes me
feel beautiful.
3 A.M.
January 15, 1967
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by
Stephen Crane
Two or three angels
Two or three angels
Came near to the earth.
They saw a fat church.
Little black streams of people
Came and went in continually.
And the angels were puzzled
To know why the people went thus,
And why they stayed so long within.
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by
John Betjeman
In A Bath Teashop
"Let us not speak, for the love we bear one another—
Let us hold hands and look."
She such a very ordinary little woman;
He such a thumping crook;
But both, for a moment, little lower than the angels
In the teashop's ingle-nook.
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by
Emily Dickinson
She died -- this was the way she died.
She died -- this was the way she died.
And when her breath was done
Took up her simple wardrobe
And started for the sun.
Her little figure at the gate
The Angels must have spied,
Since I could never find her
Upon the mortal side.
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by
Emily Dickinson
Forever honored by the Tree
Forever honored by the Tree
Whose Apple Winterworn
Enticed to Breakfast from the Sky
Two Gabriels Yestermorn.
They registered in Nature's Book
As Robins -- Sire and Son --
But Angels have that modest way
To screen them from Renown.
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by
Emily Dickinson
God permit industrious angels
God permit industrious angels
Afternoons to play.
I met one, -- forgot my school-mates,
All, for him, straightaway.
God calls home the angels promptly
At the setting sun;
I missed mine. How dreary marbles,
After playing the Crown!
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by
William Butler Yeats
A Cradle Song
The angels are stooping
Above your bed;
They weary of trooping
With the whimpering dead.
God's laughing in Heaven
To see you so good;
The Sailing Seven
Are gay with His mood.
I sigh that kiss you,
For I must own
That I shall miss you
When you have grown.
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by
Emily Dickinson
God permits industrious Angels
God permits industrious Angels --
Afternoons -- to play --
I met one -- forgot my Schoolmates --
All -- for Him -- straightway --
God calls home -- the Angels -- promptly --
At the Setting Sun --
I missed mine -- how dreary -- Marbles --
After playing Crown!
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by
Robert Burns
161. Epigram Addressed to an Artist
DEAR ———, I’ll gie ye some advice,
You’ll tak it no uncivil:
You shouldna paint at angels mair,
But try and paint the devil.
To paint an Angel’s kittle wark,
Wi’ Nick, there’s little danger:
You’ll easy draw a lang-kent face,
But no sae weel a stranger.—R. B.
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by
Emily Dickinson
Angels, in the early morning
Angels, in the early morning
May be seen the Dews among,
Stooping -- plucking -- smiling -- flying --
Do the Buds to them belong?
Angels, when the sun is hottest
May be seen the sands among,
Stooping -- plucking -- sighing -- flying --
Parched the flowers they bear along.
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by
Katherine Anne Porter
Another Sarah
for Christopher Smart
When winter was half over
God sent three angels to the
apple-tree
Who said to her
"Be glad, you little rack
Of empty sticks,
Because you have been chosen.
In May you will become
A wave of living sweetness
A nation of white petals
A dynasty of apples."
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by
Anna Akhmatova
How can you bear to look at the Neva?
How can you bear to look at the Neva?
How can you bear to cross the bridges?.
Not in vain am I known as the grieving one
Since the time you appeared to me.
The black angels' wings are sharp,
Judgment Day is coming soon,
And raspberry-colored bonfires bloom,
Like roses, in the snow.
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by
Anne Killigrew
St. John Baptist Painted by her self in the Wilderness, with Angels appearing to him, and with a Lamb by him
THe Sun's my Fire, when it does shine,
The hollow Spring's my Cave of Wine,
The Rocks and Woods afford me Meat;
This Lamb and I on one Dish eat:
The neighbouring Herds my Garments send,
My Pallet the kind Earth doth lend:
Excess and Grandure I decline,
M'Associates onely are Divine.
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by
Vachel Lindsay
The Sun Says His Prayers
"The sun says his prayers," said the fairy,
Or else he would wither and die.
"The sun says his prayers," said the fairy,
"For strength to climb up through the sky.
He leans on invisible angels,
And Faith is his prop and his rod.
The sky is his crystal cathedral.
And dawn is his altar to God."
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by
Emily Dickinson
A Cloud withdrew from the Sky
A Cloud withdrew from the Sky
Superior Glory be
But that Cloud and its Auxiliaries
Are forever lost to me
Had I but further scanned
Had I secured the Glow
In an Hermetic Memory
It had availed me now.
Never to pass the Angel
With a glance and a Bow
Till I am firm in Heaven
Is my intention now.
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