She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove.A maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love:A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye! Fair as a star,when only one Is shining in the sky.She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be;But […]
She Dwelt among the Untrodden Ways by William Wordsworth Read More »
I wander through each chartered street,Near where the chartered Thames does flow,And mark in every face I meetMarks of weakness, marks of woe. In every cry of every man,(And) In every infant’s cry of fear,In every voice, in every ban,The mind-forged manacles I hear. How the chimney-sweepers cryEvery blackening church appalls,And the hapless soldier’s sighRuns
London By William Blake (Summary & Analysis) Read More »
This girl child was born as usualand presented dolls that did pee-pee& miniature GE stoves and ironsand wee lipsticks the color of cherry candy.Then in the magic of puberty, a classmate said:You have a great big nose and fat legs.She was healthy, tested intelligent,possessed strong arms and back,abundant sexual drive, and manual dexterity.She went to
Barbie Doll By Marge Piercy (Summary, Explanation & Analysis) Read More »
The house is so quiet nowThe vacuum cleaner sulks in the corner closet,Its bag limp as a stopped lung, its mouthGrinning into the floor, maybe at mySlovenly life, my dog-dead youth.I’ve lived this way long enough,But when my old woman died her soulWent into that vacuum cleaner, and I can’t bearTo see the bag swell
The Vacuum By Howard Nemerov Read More »
That winter, the dead could not be buried.The ground was frozen, the gravediggers weak from hunger,The coffin wood was used for fuel. So they were covered with somethingAnd taken on a child’s sled to the cemeteryIn the sub-zero air. They lay on the soil,Some of them wrapped in dark clothBound with rope like the tree’s
Leningrad Cemetery, Winter of 1941 by Sharon Olds Read More »
I’ve known rivers:I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than theFlow of human blood in human veins.My soul has grown deep like the rivers.I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above
The Negro Speaks of Rivers by Langston Hughes – Analysis Read More »
