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Thomas Gray

William Collins

William Wordsworth (Surprised by Joy)

William Wordsworth (Mutability)

Walter Savage Landor

George Gordon, Lord Byron

Percy Bysshe Shelley

John Keats

Robert Browning

George Meredith

Thomas Hardy

William Butler Yeats

Robert Frost (Putting in the Seed)

Robert Frost (Two Tramps in Mud Time)

Ezra Pound

Robinson Jeffers

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Jorge Luis Borges

Karl Shapiro

Richard Wilbur


sonnet from A FEW FIGS FROM THISTLES


I think I should have loved you presently,
And given in earnest words I flung in jest;
And lifted honest eyes for you to see,
And caught your hand against my cheek and breast;
And all my pretty follies flung aside
That won you to me, and beneath your gaze,
Naked of reticence and shorn of pride,
Spread like a chart my little wicked ways.
I, that had been to you, had you remained,
But one more waking from a recurrent dream,
Cherish no less the certain stakes I gained,
And walk your memory's halls, austere, supreme,
A ghost in marble of a girl you knew
Who would have loved you in a day or two.