When I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hideLodged with me useless, though my soul more bentTo serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest He returning chide; "Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?"I fondly ask. But Patience, to …
Continue reading Poetry: Milton – When I consider how my light is spent
When my love swears that she is made of truth,I do believe her, though I know she lies,That she might think me some untutored youth,Unlearnèd in the world’s false subtleties.Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,Although she knows my days are past the best,Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue:On both sides thus is simple …
The apparition of these faces in the crowd:Petals on a wet, black bough.Pound One of my favorite poems, "In a Station of the Metro" is a piece of Imagist poetry depicting the briefest moment of time in crisp language and quick emotion. While I seldom like modernist poetry, this one has always fascinated me. Unlike …
Let me not to the marriage of true mindsAdmit impediments. Love is not loveWhich alters when it alteration finds,Or bends with the remover to remove.O no! it is an ever-fixed markThat looks on tempests and is never shaken;It is the star to every wand'ring bark,Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.Love's not Time's fool, …
Whan that Aprille with his shoures soteThe droghte of Marche hath perced to the rote,And bathed every veyne in swich licour,Of which vertu engendred is the flour;Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breethInspired hath in every holt and heethThe tendre croppes, and the yonge sonneHath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne,And smale fowles maken …
Madelyn Rose Craig 