The Concise Verse
I was angry with my friend: I told my wrath, my wrath did end. I was angry with my foe: I told it not, my wrath did grow. And I watered it in fears, Night and morning with my tears; And I sunned it with smiles, And with soft deceitful wiles. And it grew both day and night, Till it bore an apple bright; And my foe beheld it shine, And he knew that it was mine. And into my garden stole When the night had veiled the pole: In the morning glad I see My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
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See, yonder, the belfry tower That gleams in the moon’s pale light; Or is it a ghostly flower That dreams in the silent night? I listen and hear the chime Go quavering o’er the town, And out of this flower of Time Twelve petals are wafted down.
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Oh Lord, I've never lived where churches grow. I love creation better as it stood That day You finished it so long ago And looked upon Your work and called it good. I know that others find You in the light That's sifted down through tinted window panes, And yet I seem to feel You near tonight In this dim, quiet starlight on the plains.
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How strange that grass should sing— Grass is so still a thing . . . And strange the swift surprise of snow So soft it falls and slow.
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All the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts...
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When I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me; Plant thou no roses at my head, Nor shady cypress tree: Be the green grass above me With showers and dewdrops wet; And if thou wilt, remember, And if thou wilt, forget.
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Lo, the unbounded sea, On its breast a ship starting, spreading all sails, carrying even her moonsails. The pennant is flying aloft as she speeds she speeds so stately- below emulous waves press forward, They surround the ship with shining curving motions and foam.
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He clasps the crag with crooked hands; Close to the sun in lonely lands, Ring'd with the azure world, he stands. The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls; He watches from his mountain walls, And like a thunderbolt he falls.
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Stars over snow, And in the west a planet Swinging below a star— Look for a lovely thing and you will find it, It is not far— It will never be far.
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Some things that fly there be, — Birds, hours, the bumble-bee: Of these no elegy. Some things that stay there be, — Grief, hills, eternity: Nor this behooveth me. There are, that resting, rise. Can I expound the skies? How still the riddle lies!
info_outlineMy candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends—
It gives a lovely light!