• William Blake

    A Dream

    Once a dream did weave a shade O’er my Angel-guarded bed, That an emmet lost its way Where on grass methought I lay. Troubled, ’wilder’d, and forlorn,       Dark, benighted, travel-worn, Over many a tangled spray, All heart-broke I heard her say: ‘O, my children! do they cry?…

  • Anna Akhmatova

    I Taught Myself To Live Simply

    I taught myself to live simply and wisely, to look at the sky and pray to God, and to wander long before evening to tire my superfluous worries. When the burdocks rustle in the ravine and the yellow-red rowanberry cluster droops I compose happy verses about life’s decay, decay and…

  • William Blake

    Night

    The sun descending in the west, The evening star does shine; The birds are silent in their nest, And I must seek for mine. The moon, like a flower, In heaven’s high bower, With silent delight Sits and smiles on the night. Farewell, green fields and happy groves, Where flocks…

  • Anna Akhmatova

    You Will Hear Thunder

    You will hear thunder and remember me, And think: she wanted storms. The rim Of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson, And your heart, as it was then, will be on fire. That day in Moscow, it will all come true, when, for the last time, I…

  • Alfred Lord Tennyson

    A farewell

    Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea, Thy tribute wave deliver: No more by thee my steps shall be, For ever and for ever. Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea, A rivulet then a river: Nowhere by thee my steps shall be For ever and for ever. But here…

  • James Whitcomb Riley

    The Hereafter.

    Hereafter!    O we need not waste Our smiles or tears, whatever befall: No happiness but holds a taste Of something sweeter, after all; – No depth of agony but feels Some fragment of abiding trust, – Whatever death unlocks or seals, The mute beyond is just. James Whitcomb Riley

  • Albert Samain

    À Marceline Desbordes-Valmore

    L’amour, dont l’autre nom sur terre est la douleur, De ton sein fit jaillir une source écumante, Et ta voix était triste et ton âme charmante, Et de toi la pitié divine eût fait sa sœur. Ivresse ou désespoir, enthousiasme ou langueur, Tu jetais tes cris d’or à travers la…