Emily Dickinson - "Faith" Is A Fine Invention::"Faith" is a fine invention\nFor gentlemen who see,\nBut Microscopes are prudent\nIn an emergency!\nEmily Dickinson (1830-1886)
Emily Dickinson - "Hope" Is The Thing With Feathers::"Hope" is the thing with feathers\nThat perches in the soul\nAnd sings the tune without the words\nAnd never stops at all,\nAnd sweetest in the gale is heard;\nAnd sore must be the storm\nThat could abash the little bird\nThat kept so many warm.\nI've heard it in the chillest land\nAnd on the strangest sea,\nYet never, in extremity,\nIt asked a crumb of me.\nEmily Dickinson (1830-1886)
Emily Dickinson - Wild Nights::Wild nights. Wild nights!\nWere I with thee,\nWild nights should be\nOur luxury!\n\nFutile the winds\nTo a heart in port\nDone with the compass\nDone with the chart.\n\nRowing in Eden.\nAh, the sea.\nMight I but moor\nTonight with thee!\nEmily Dickinson (1830-1886)
Elizabeth I - Written On A Wall at Woodstock::Oh Fortune, thy wresting wavering state\nHath fraught with cares my troubled wit,\nWhose witness this present prison late\nCould bear, where once was joy's loan quit.\nThou causedst the guilty to be loosed\nFrom bands where innocents were inclosed,\nAnd caused the guiltless to be reserved,\nAnd freed those that death had well deserved.\nBut all herein can be nothing wrought,\nSo God send to my foes all they have thought.\nElizabeth I (1533-1603)
Robert Frost - Fire and Ice::Some say the world will end in fire,\nSome say in ice.\nFrom what I've tasted of desire\nI hold with those who favor fire.\nBut if it had to perish twice,\nI think I know enough of hate\nTo know that for destruction ice\nIs also great\nAnd would suffice.\nRobert Frost (1874-1963)
H. D. - Sea Rose::Rose, harsh rose,\nmarred and with stint of petals,\nmeagre flower, thin,\nsparse of leaf,\nmore precious\nthan a wet rose\nsingle on a stem --\nyou are caught in the drift.\nStunted, with small leaf,\nyou are flung on the sand,\nyou are lifted\nin the crisp sand\nthat drives in the wind.\nCan the spice-rose\ndrip such acrid fragrance\nhardened in a leaf?\nH. D. (Hilda Doolittle; 1886-1961)
H. D. - The Pool::Are you alive?\nI touch you.\nYou quiver like a sea-fish.\nI cover you with my net.\nWhat are you - banded one?\nH. D. (Hilda Doolittle; 1886-1961)
