What needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones,The labor of an age in pilèd stones,Or that his hallowed relics should be hidUnder a star-ypointing pyramid?Dear son of Memory, great heir of fame,What need’st thou such weak witness of thy name?Thou in our wonder and astonishmentHast built thyself a live-long monument.For whilst to th’ shame of …
The way a crowShook down on meThe dust of snowFrom a hemlock tree Has given my heartA change of moodAnd saved some partOf a day I had rued. I've mentioned before in previous posts that I have a particular love of short poetry. This piece is no different. I think I first read Frost's poem …
Lo! where the Moon along the skySails with her happy destiny;Oft is she hid from mortal eyeOr dimly seen,But when the clouds asunder flyHow bright her mien! Far different we—a froward race,Thousands though rich in Fortune's graceWith cherished sullenness of paceTheir way pursue,Ingrates who wear a smileless faceThe whole year through. If kindred humours e'er …
Madelyn Rose Craig 