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Book: Death and Taxes

1 - 45 of 45
  • When you are gone, there is nor bloom nor leaf,
    Nor singing sea at night, nor silver birds;
    12 lines
  • The stars are soft as flowers, and as near;
    The hills are webs of shadow, slowly spun;
    8 lines
  • So take my vows and scatter them to sea;
    Who swears the sweetest is no more than human.
    14 lines
  • I. The Minor Poet
    His little trills and chirpings were his best.
    44 lines
  • So let me have the rouge again,
     And comb my hair the curly way.
    16 lines, 5 comments
  • If she had been beautiful, even,
    Or wiser than women about her,
    20 lines, 4 comments
  • Drink and dance and laugh and lie,
     Love, the reeling midnight through,
    4 lines
  • I'm wearied of wearying love, my friend,
    Of worry and strain and doubt;
    16 lines
  • There's many and many, and not so far,
     Is willing to dry my tears away;
    12 lines
  • Too long and quickly have I lived to vow
    The woe that stretches me shall never wane,
    14 lines
  • I never may turn the loop of a road
     Where sudden, ahead, the sea is Iying,
    16 lines, 1 comment
  • I was seventy-seven, come August,
      I shall shortly be losing my bloom;
    33 lines
  • Roses, rooted warm in earth,
      Bud in rhyme, another age;
    12 lines
  • Lady, lady, never start
    Conversation toward your heart;
    20 lines
  • Dearest one, when I am dead
     Never seek to follow me.
    12 lines
  • You are brief and frail and blue-
    Little sisters, I am, too.
    4 lines
  • My land is bare of chattering folk;
     The clouds are low along the ridges,
    4 lines
  • There was a rose that faded young;
    I saw its shattered beauty hung
    12 lines
  • Star, that gives a gracious dole,
      What am I to choose?
    19 lines, 7 comments
  • She that begs a little boon
     (Heel and toe! Heel and toe!)
    25 lines
  • And now I have another lad!
    No longer need you tell
    24 lines
  • Maidens, gather not the yew,
      Leave the glossy myrtle sleeping;
    8 lines
  • On sweet young earth where the myrtle presses,
     Long we lay, when the May was new;
    8 lines
  • The things she knew, let her forget again-
    The voices in the sky, the fear, the cold,
    16 lines
  • Then let them point my every tear,
     And let them mock and moan;
    8 lines
  • A nobler king had never breath-
    I say it now, and said it then.
    24 lines
  • The bird that feeds from off my palm
    Is sleek, affectionate, and calm,
    4 lines
  • Love is sharper than stones or sticks;
      Lone as the sea, and deeper blue;
    32 lines, 1 comment
  • Long I fought the driving lists,
     Plume a-stream and armor clanging;
    4 lines, 1 comment
  • Oh, mercifullest one of all,
     Oh, generous as dear,
    12 lines, 1 comment
  • Tonight my love is sleeping cold
     Where none may see and none shall pass.
    8 lines
  • In May my heart was breaking-
     Oh, wide the wound, and deep!
    8 lines, 2 comments
  • Unseemly are the open eyes
     That watch the midnight sheep,
    8 lines
  • Daily I listen to wonder and woe,
    Nightly I hearken to knave or to ace,
    29 lines, 2 comments
  • My hand, a little raised, might press a star-
    Where I may look, the frosted peaks are spun,
    14 lines, 2 comments
  • I never see that prettiest thing-
    A cherry bough gone white with Spring-
    4 lines
  • Every love's the love before
     In a duller dress.
    6 lines, 1 comment
  • Were you to cross the world, my dear,
     To work or love or fight,
    8 lines
  • When first we saw the apple tree
     The boughs were dark and straight,
    8 lines
  • ... So, praise the gods, Catullus is away!
     And let me tend you this advice, my dear:
    12 lines, 2 comments
  • You know the bloom, unearthly white,
    That none has seen by morning light-
    10 lines
  • God's acre was her garden-spot, she said;
     She sat there often, of the Summer days,
    12 lines
  • Who lay against the sea, and fled,
     Who lightly loved the wave,
    8 lines
  • So delicate my hands, and long,
     They might have been my pride.
    8 lines
  • For one, the amaryllis and the rose;
     The poppy, sweet as never lilies are;
    8 lines
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