white - Popular Poems and stories from category

As a white stone in the well's cool deepness,
There lays in me one wonderful remembrance
I am not able and don't want to miss this:
It is my torture and my utter gladness

AS a bright May morn, and each opening flower Lay sunning itself in Flora's bower;
Young Love, who was fluttering round, espied The blossoms so gay in their painted pride;
And he gazed on the point of a feathered dart,
For mischief ...

Take up the White Man's burden— Send forth the best ye breed— Go, bind your sons to exile To serve your captives' need;
To wait, in heavy harness,
On fluttered folk and wild— Your new-caught sullen peoples,
Half devil and half child

I Love this white and slender body,
These limbs that answer Love's caresses,
Passionate eyes, and forehead covered With heavy waves of thick, black tresses
You are the very one I've searched for In many lands, in every weather

When I have baked white cakes And grated green almonds to spread on them;
When I have picked the green crowns from the strawberries And piled them, cone-pointed, in a blue and yellow platter;
When I have smoothed the seam of the linen I ...

No matter what life you leadthe virgin is a lovely number:cheeks as fragile as cigarette paper,arms and legs made of Limoges,lips like Vin Du Rhône,rolling her china-blue doll eyesopen and shut
Open to say,
Good Day Mama,and shut for the...

(France — Ancient Regime
) I
Go away
Go away;

I believe that a young
Is standing in a circle of
In the other side of the sky
In a little while I must carry her the

TE rose sighed in the morn, Red rose laughed in the noon, And "Sweetest sweetness is ended soon,"And "Never heed for the thorn
""Love's hour passes away," White rose breathed in my ear; Red rose whispered "N...

Reynard, the Fox, was asked to a party
"Come", they said, in your Sunday best,
For we like good form, tho' the fun be hearty;
So all who dance must be formally dressed:

Lost in the forest,
I broke off a dark twigand lifted its whisper to my thirsty lips:maybe it was the voice of the rain crying,a cracked bell, or a torn heart
Something from far off it seemeddeep and secret to me, hidden by the earth,a s...

(An answer to Frances Cornford)Why do you rush through the fields in trains,
Guessing so much and so much
Why do you flash through the flowery meads,
Fat-head poet that nobody reads;