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by
Robert Herrick
SATISFACTION FOR SUFFERINGS
For all our works a recompence is sure;
'Tis sweet to think on what was hard t'endure
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by
Emily Dickinson
The Work of Her that went,
The Work of Her that went,
The Toil of Fellows done --
In Ovens green our Mother bakes,
By Fires of the Sun.
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by
Emily Dickinson
All men for Honor hardest work
All men for Honor hardest work
But are not known to earn --
Paid after they have ceased to work
In Infamy or Urn --
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by
Friedrich von Schiller
Participation
E'en by the hand of the wicked can truth be working with vigor;
But the vessel is filled by what is beauteous alone.
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by
Dorothy Parker
Alexandre Dumas And His Son
Although I work, and seldom cease,
At Dumas pere and Dumas fils,
Alas, I cannot make me care
For Dumas fils and Dumas pere.
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by
Dorothy Parker
Walter Savage Landor
Upon the work of Walter Landor
I am unfit to write with candor.
If you can read it, well and good;
But as for me, I never could.
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by
Friedrich von Schiller
The Learned Workman
Ne'er does he taste the fruit of the tree that he raised with such trouble;
Nothing but taste e'er enjoys that which by learning is reared.
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by
John Betjeman
The Last Laugh
I made hay while the sun shone.
My work sold.
Now, if the harvest is over
And the world cold,
Give me the bonus of laughter
As I lose hold.
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by
Robert William Service
Rhyme For My Tomb
Here lyeth one
Who loved the sun;
Who lived with zest,
Whose work was done,
Reward, dear Lord,
Thy weary son:
May he be blest
With peace and rest,
Nor wake again,
Amen.
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by
Emily Dickinson
Trusty as the stars
Trusty as the stars
Who quit their shining working
Prompt as when I lit them
In Genesis' new house,
Durable as dawn
Whose antiquated blossom
Makes a world's suspense
Perish and rejoice.
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by
Wanda Phipps
Morning Poem #6
groggy voice
hangover head
phone rongs
work call
money writing
muddled thoughts
adrenaline rush
hands clutch
power book
pauses comerapid doubts
make calls
take notes
ming push
fear waits
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by
Stephen Crane
Ay, workman, make me a dream,
Ay, workman, make me a dream,
A dream for my love.
Cunningly weave sunlight,
Breezes, and flowers.
Let it be of the cloth of meadows.
And -- good workman --
And let there be a man walking thereon.
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by
Emily Dickinson
There's the Battle of Burgoyne --
There's the Battle of Burgoyne --
Over, every Day,
By the Time that Man and Beast
Put their work away
"Sunset" sounds majestic --
But that solemn War
Could you comprehend it
You would chastened stare --
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by
William Butler Yeats
To Be Carved On A Stone At Thoor Ballylee
I, the poet William Yeats,
With old mill boards and sea-green slates,
And smithy work from the Gort forge,
Restored this tower for my wife George;
And may these characters remain
When all is ruin once again.
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by
Emily Dickinson
The Service without Hope --
The Service without Hope --
Is tenderest, I think --
Because 'tis unsustained
By stint -- Rewarded Work --
Has impetus of Gain --
And impetus of Goal --
There is no Diligence like that
That knows not an Until --
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by
Charles Bukowski
Working Out
Van Gogh cut off his ear
gave it to a
prostitute
who flung it away in
extreme
disgust.
Van, whores don't want
ears
they want
money.
I guess that's why you were
such a great
painter: you
didn't understand
much
else.
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by
Emily Dickinson
Too cold is this
Too cold is this
To warm with Sun --
Too stiff to bended be,
To joint this Agate were a work --
Outstaring Masonry --
How went the Agile Kernel out
Contusion of the Husk
Nor Rip, nor wrinkle indicate
But just an Asterisk.
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by
Emily Dickinson
This Me -- that walks and works -- must die,
This Me -- that walks and works -- must die,
Some fair or stormy Day,
Adversity if it may be
Or wild prosperity
The Rumor's Gate was shut so tight
Before my mind was born
Not even a Prognostic's push
Can make a Dent thereon --
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by
Emily Dickinson
The Notice that is called the Spring
The Notice that is called the Spring
Is but a month from here --
Put up my Heart thy Hoary work
And take a Rosy Chair.
Not any House the Flowers keep --
The Birds enamor Care --
Our salary the longest Day
Is nothing but a Bier.
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by
Emily Dickinson
The Missing All -- prevented Me
The Missing All -- prevented Me
From missing minor Things.
If nothing larger than a World's
Departure from a Hinge --
Or Sun's extinction, be observed --
'Twas not so large that I
Could lift my Forehead from my work
For Curiosity.
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by
Dorothy Parker
Distance
Were you to cross the world, my dear,
To work or love or fight,
I could be calm and wistful here,
And close my eyes at night.
It were a sweet and gallant pain
To be a sea apart;
But, oh, to have you down the lane
Is bitter to my heart.
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by
Friedrich von Schiller
The Iliad
Tear forever the garland of Homer, and number the fathers
Of the immortal work, that through all time will survive!
Yet it has but one mother, and bears that mother's own feature,
'Tis thy features it bears,--Nature,--thy features eterne!
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by
Emily Dickinson
I worked for chaff and earning Wheat
I worked for chaff and earning Wheat
Was haughty and betrayed.
What right had Fields to arbitrate
In matters ratified?
I tasted Wheat and hated Chaff
And thanked the ample friend --
Wisdom is more becoming viewed
At distance than at hand.
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by
Emily Dickinson
At leisure is the Soul
At leisure is the Soul
That gets a Staggering Blow --
The Width of Life -- before it spreads
Without a thing to do --
It begs you give it Work --
But just the placing Pins --
Or humblest Patchwork -- Children do --
To Help its Vacant Hands --
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by
Emily Dickinson
The Bird her punctual music brings
The Bird her punctual music brings
And lays it in its place --
Its place is in the Human Heart
And in the Heavenly Grace --
What respite from her thrilling toil
Did Beauty ever take --
But Work might be electric Rest
To those that Magic make --
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