A Burdock&Mdash;Clawed My Gown Poem by Emily Dickinson

A Burdock&Mdash;Clawed My Gown Poem by Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson (December 10, 1830 – May 15, 1886) was an American poet. Below is A Burdock&Mdash;Clawed My Gown Poem by Emily Dickinson.

A Burdock&Mdash;Clawed My Gown Poem

A Burdock—clawed my Gown—
Not Burdock’s—blame—
But mine—
Who went too near
The Burdock’s Den—

A Bog—affronts my shoe—
What else have Bogs—to do—
The only Trade they know—
The splashing Men!
Ah, pity—then!

‘Tis Minnows can despise!
The Elephant’s—calm eyes
Look further on!

A Clock Stopped – Not The Mantel’s Poem by Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson (December 10, 1830 – May 15, 1886) was an American poet. Below is A Clock Stopped – Not The Mantel’s Poem by Emily Dickinson.

A Clock Stopped – Not The Mantel’s Poem

A clock stopped — not the mantel’s
Geneva’s farthest skill
Can’t put the puppet bowing
That just now dangled still.

An awe came on the trinket!
The figures hunched with pain,
Then quivered out of decimals
Into degreeless noon.

It will not stir for doctors,
This pendulum of snow;
The shopman importunes it,
While cool, concernless No

Nods from the gilded pointers,
Nods from seconds slim,
Decades of arrogance between
The dial life and him.

‘Arcturus’ Is His Other Name Poem by Emily Dickinson

'Arcturus' Is His Other Name Poem by Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson

‘Arcturus’ Is His Other Name is an inspirational poem by Emily Dickinson. Emily Dickinson (December 10, 1830 – May 15, 1886) was an American poet.

‘Arcturus’ Is His Other Name Poem

‘Arcturus’ is his other name—
I’d rather call him ‘Star.’
It’s very mean of Science
To go and interfere!

I slew a worm the other day—
A ‘Savant’ passing by
Murmured ‘Resurgam’—’Centipede’!
‘Oh Lord—how frail are we’!

I pull a flower from the woods—
A monster with a glass
Computes the stamens in a breath—
And has her in a ‘class’!

Whereas I took the Butterfly
Aforetime in my hat—
He sits erect in ‘Cabinets’—
The Clover bells forgot.

What once was ‘Heaven’
Is ‘Zenith’ now—
Where I proposed to go
When Time’s brief masquerade was done
Is mapped and charted too.

What if the poles should frisk about
And stand upon their heads!
I hope I’m ready for ‘the worst’—
Whatever prank betides!

Perhaps the ‘Kingdom of Heaven’s’ changed—
I hope the ‘Children’ there Won’t be ‘new fashioned’ when I come—
And laugh at me—and stare—

I hope the Father in the skies
Will lift his little girl—
Old fashioned—naught—everything—
Over the stile of ‘Pearl.’

“Why Do I Love” You, Sir? Poem by Emily Dickinson

"Why Do I Love" You, Sir? Poem by Emily Dickinson
Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson (December 10, 1830 – May 15, 1886) was an American poet. Below is “Why Do I Love” You, Sir? Poem by Emily Dickinson. This poem is one off the most famous poem by Emily Dickinson.

“Why Do I Love” You, Sir? Poem

“Why do I love” You, Sir?
Because—
The Wind does not require the Grass
To answer—Wherefore when He pass
She cannot keep Her place.

Because He knows—and
Do not You—
And We know not—
Enough for Us
The Wisdom it be so—

The Lightning—never asked an Eye
Wherefore it shut—when He was by—
Because He knows it cannot speak—
And reasons not contained—
—Of Talk—
There be—preferred by Daintier Folk—

The Sunrise—Sire—compelleth Me—
Because He’s Sunrise—and I see—
Therefore—Then—
I love Thee—

Annabel Lee Poem by Edgar Allan Poe

Annabel Lee Poem by Edgar Allan Poe
Edgar Allan Poe

“Annabel Lee” is one of the most famous and last complete poem composed by American author Edgar Allan Poe.

Annabel Lee Poem

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes! – that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

“Dreams” Poem by Langston Hughes

“Dreams” Poem by Langston Hughes
Langston Hughes

Langston Hughes (February 1, 1902 – May 22, 1967) was an American poet. Below is “Dreams” Poem by Langston Hughes.

Dreams Poem

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.

“A Clear Midnight” Poem by Walt Whitman

Walt Whitman (May 31, 1819 – March 26, 1892) was an American poet, essayist, and journalist. Below is A Clear Midnight Poem by Walt Whitman.

His work was very controversial in its time, particularly his poetry collection Leaves of Grass, which was described as obscene for its overt sexuality.

A Clear Midnight Poem by Walt Whitman
Walt Whitman

A Clear Midnight Poem

THIS is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,
Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,
Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou
lovest best.
Night, sleep, death and the stars.

“A Thing Of Beauty” Poem By John Keats

A Thing Of Beauty Poem By John Keats
John Keats

John Keats (31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821) was an English Romantic poet. “A Thing Of Beauty” Poem is one the most famous and Inspirational Poem By John Keats.

A Thing Of Beauty Poem

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its lovliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o’er-darkn’d ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
‘Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven’s brink.

Buy:- The Complete Poems of John Keats

“Alone” Poem by Edgar Allan Poe

“Alone” poem was originally written in 1829 and left untitled and unpublished during Poe’s lifetime. The original manuscript was signed “E. A. Poe” and dated March 17, 1829.

Edgar Allan Poe (born Edgar Poe; January 19, 1809 – October 7, 1849) was an American writer. “Alone” is often interpreted as autobiographical, expressing the author’s feelings of isolation and inner torment.

Alone  Poem by Edgar Allan Poe
Edgar Allan Poe

Alone Poem

From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.

“All The World’s A Stage” Poem by William Shakespeare

“All the world’s a stage” is the phrase that begins a monologue from William Shakespeare’s work As You Like It. It is one of Shakespeare’s most famous poems.

William Shakespeare (26 April 1564 (baptised) – 23 April 1616) was an English poet, playwright, and actor. Shakespeare is widely regarded as the greatest writer in the English language and the world’s pre-eminent dramatist.

All The World’s A Stage Poem

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,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.