Robert Frost – Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.His house is in the village, though;He will not see me stopping hereTo watch his woods fill up with snow.My little horse must think it queerTo stop without a farmhouse nearBetween the woods and frozen lakeThe darkest evening of the year.He gives...

George Eliot – Count That Day Lost

 If you sit down at set of sunAnd count the acts that you have done,And, counting, findOne self-denying deed, one wordThat eased the heart of him who heard,One glance most kindThat fell like sunshine where it went – Then you may count that day well spent.But if, through all...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox – A Pin

 Oh, I know a certain lady who is reckoned with the good,Yet she fills me with more terror than a raging lion would.The little chills run up and down my spine whene’er we meet,Though she seems a gentle creature, and she’s very trim and neat.And she has a thousand virtues and...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox – Life Is A Privilege

 Life is a privilege. Its youthful daysShine with the radiance of continuous Mays.To live, to breathe, to wonder and desire,To feed with dreams the heart’s perpetual fire,To thrill with virtuous passions, and to glowWith great ambitions – in one hour to knowThe depths and heights...

George Gordon Byron – To Ianthe

Not in those climes where I have late been straying,Though Beauty long hath there been matchless deemed,Not in those visions to the heart displayingForms which it sighs but to have only dreamed,Hath aught like thee in Truth or Fancy seemed:Nor, having seen thee, shall I vainly seekTo...