IN OCTOBERBy John BurroughsNow comes the sunset of the verdant year,Chemic fires, still and slow,Burn in the leav...

THE LAKE ISLE OF INNISFREEBy William Butler YeatsI WILL arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,And a small cabin...

IN THE DARK PINE-WOODBy James JoyceIn the dark pine-woodI would we lay,In deep cool shadowAt noon of day.How swe...

THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMERBy Thomas Moore’TIS the last rose of summerLeft blooming alone;All her lovely companionsAr...

THE LAMBBy William BlakeLittle lamb, who made thee?Does thou know who made thee,Gave thee life, and bid thee fee...

IN THE SHADOWSBy E. Pauline JohnsonI am sailing to the leeward,Where the current runs to seawardSoft and slow,Whe...

LIFEBy Charlotte BronteLife, believe, is not a dreamSo dark as sages say;Oft a little morning rainForetells a ple...

LATE LEAVESBy Walter Savage LandorTHE leaves are falling; so am I;The few late flowers have moisture in the eye;...

LOVE AND SLEEPBy Arthur SymonsI HAVE laid sorrow to sleep;Love sleeps.She who oft made me weepNow weeps.I loved,...

LINESBy William WordsworthLOUD is the Vale! the Voice is upWith which she speaks when storms are gone,A mighty u...