Written by
William Cowper |
Delia, the unkindest girl on earth,
When I besought the fair,
That favour of intrinsic worth
A ringlet of her hair,
Refused that instant to comply
With my absurd request,
For reasons she could specify,
Some twenty score at least.
Trust me, my dear, however odd
It may appear to say,
I sought it merely to defraud
Thy spoiler of his prey.
Yes! when its sister locks shall fade,
As quickly fade they must,
When all their beauties are decayed,
Their gloss, their colour, lost—
Ah then! if haply to my share
Some slender pittance fall,
If I but gain one single hair,
Nor age usurp them all;—
When you behold it still as sleek,
As lovely to the view,
As when it left thy snowy neck,
That Eden where it grew,
Then shall my Delia's self declare
That I professed the truth,
And have preserved my little share
In everlasting youth.
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Written by
Emily Dickinson |
Alone and in a Circumstance
Reluctant to be told
A spider on my reticence
Assiduously crawled
And so much more at Home than I
Immediately grew
I felt myself a visitor
And hurriedly withdrew
Revisiting my late abode
With articles of claim
I found it quietly assumed
As a Gymnasium
Where Tax asleep and Title off
The inmates of the Air
Perpetual presumption took
As each were special Heir --
If any strike me on the street
I can return the Blow --
If any take my property
According to the Law
The Statute is my Learned friend
But what redress can be
For an offense nor here nor there
So not in Equity --
That Larceny of time and mind
The marrow of the Day
By spider, or forbid it Lord
That I should specify.
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Written by
Walt Whitman |
MY spirit to yours, dear brother;
Do not mind because many, sounding your name, do not understand you;
I do not sound your name, but I understand you, (there are others also;)
I specify you with joy, O my comrade, to salute you, and to salute those who are with you,
before and since—and those to come also,
That we all labor together, transmitting the same charge and succession;
We few, equals, indifferent of lands, indifferent of times;
We, enclosers of all continents, all castes—allowers of all theologies,
Compassionaters, perceivers, rapport of men,
We walk silent among disputes and assertions, but reject not the disputers, nor any thing
that is asserted;
We hear the bawling and din—we are reach’d at by divisions, jealousies,
recriminations on every side,
They close peremptorily upon us, to surround us, my comrade,
Yet we walk unheld, free, the whole earth over, journeying up and down, till we make our
ineffaceable mark upon time and the diverse eras,
Till we saturate time and eras, that the men and women of races, ages to come, may prove
brethren and lovers, as we are.
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Written by
Emily Dickinson |
Who were "the Father and the Son"
We pondered when a child,
And what had they to do with us
And when portentous told
With inference appalling
By Childhood fortified
We thought, at least they are no worse
Than they have been described.
Who are "the Father and the Son"
Did we demand Today
"The Father and the Son" himself
Would doubtless specify --
But had they the felicity
When we desired to know.
We better Friends had been, perhaps,
Than time ensue to be --
We start -- to learn that we believe
But once -- entirely --
Belief, it does not fit so well
When altered frequently --
We blush, that Heaven if we achieve --
Event ineffable --
We shall have shunned until ashamed
To own the Miracle --
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Written by
Emily Dickinson |
No Notice gave She, but a Change --
No Message, but a Sigh --
For Whom, the Time did not suffice
That She should specify.
She was not warm, though Summer shone
Nor scrupulous of cold
Though Rime by Rime, the steady Frost
Upon Her Bosom piled --
Of shrinking ways -- she did not fright
Though all the Village looked --
But held Her gravity aloft --
And met the gaze -- direct --
And when adjusted like a Seed
In careful fitted Ground
Unto the Everlasting Spring
And hindered but a Mound
Her Warm return, if so she chose --
And We -- imploring drew --
Removed our invitation by
As Some She never knew --
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