Tag Archives: American poetry

Perhaps you’d like to buy a flower by Emily Dickinson

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Perhaps you’d like to buy a flower,

But I could never sell –

If you would like to borrow,

Until the Daffodil

Unties her yellow Bonnet

Beneath the village door,

Until the Bees, from Clover rows

Their Hock, and Sherry, draw,

Why, I will lend until just then,

But not an hour more! – Emily Dickinson

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I Never Saw a Moor by Emily Dickinson

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I Never Saw a Moor

by Emily Dickinson

 

I never saw a moor,

I never saw the sea;

Yet know I how the heather looks,

And what a wave must be.

I never spoke with God,

Nor visited in heaven;

Yet certain am I of the spot

As if the chart were given.

Cowboy’s Prayer

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O Lord, I’ve never lived where churches grow;

I’ve loved creation better as it stood.

That day you finished it, so long ago,

And looked upon your work and called it good.

Just let me live my life as I’ve begun!

And give me work that’s open to the sky;

Make me a partner of the wind and sun,

And I won’t ask a life that’s soft and high.

Make me as big and open as the plains;

As honest as the horse between my knees;

Clean as the wind that blows behind the rains;

Free as the hawk that circles down the breeze.

Just keep an eye on all that’s done and said;

Just right me sometime when I turn aside;

And guide me on the long, dim trail ahead –

That stretches upward towards the Great Divide.

  • Author Unknown

Much Madness Is Divinest Sense by Emily Dickinson

Much Madness Is Divinest Sense

by Emily Dickinson

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Much madness is divinest sense

To a discerning eye;

Much sense the starkest madness.

‘Tis the majority

In this, as all, prevails.

Assent, and you are sane;

Demur – you’re straightway dangerous

And handled with a chain.

Prayer of a Soldier in France by Joyce Kilmer

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Prayer of a Soldier in France

By Joyce Kilmer
My shoulders ache beneath my pack
(Lie easier, Cross, upon His back).
I march with feet that burn and smart
(Tread, Holy Feet, upon my heart).
Men shout at me who may not speak
(They scourged Thy back and smote Thy cheek).
I may not lift a hand to clear
My eyes of salty drops that sear.
 –
(Then shall my fickle soul forget
Thy agony of Bloody Sweat?)
 –
My rifle hand is stiff and numb
(From Thy pierced palm red rivers come).
 –
Lord, Thou didst suffer more for me
Than all the hosts of land and sea.
 –
So let me render back again
This millionth of Thy gift. Amen.