Infoplease Editors' Blog
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Harps hung up in Babylon
February 18, 2007 - 9:47am
by Arthur Colton
The harps hung up in Babylon,
Their loosened strings rang on, sang on,
And cast their murmurs forth upon
The roll and roar of Babylon:
"Forget me, Lord, if I forget
Jerusalem for Babylon,
As in the Midst of Battle there is Room
February 11, 2007 - 8:00am
by George Santayana
As in the midst of battle there is room
For thoughts of love, and in foul sin for mirth;
As gossips whisper of a trinket's worth
Spied by the death-bed's flickering candle-gloom;
As in the crevices of Cæsar's tomb
The sweet herbs flourish on a little earth:
So in this great disaster of our birth
We can be happy, and forget our doom.
Song "For me the jasmine buds unfold"
February 11, 2007 - 9:05am
by Florence Earle Coates
For me the jasmine buds unfold
And silver daisies star the lea,
The crocus hoards the sunset gold,
And the wild rose breathes for me.
I feel the sap through the bough returning,
I share the skylark's transport fine,
I know the fountain's wayward yearning,
I love, and the world is mine!
Only of thee and me
February 11, 2007 - 9:13am
by Louis Untermeyer
Only of thee and me the night wind sings,
Only of us the sailors speak at sea,
The earth is filled with wondered whisperings
Only of thee and me.
Only of thee and me the breakers chant,
Only of us the stir in bush and tree;
Facing West from California's Shores
February 11, 2007 - 9:37am
by Walt Whitman
Facing west from California's shores,
Inquiring, tireless, seeking what is yet unfound,
I, a child, very old, over waves,
towards the house of maternity,
the land of migrations, look afar,
Look off the shores of my Western sea,
the circle almost circled;
Storm Fear
February 11, 2007 - 9:48am
by Robert Frost
WHEN the wind works against us in the dark,
And pelts with snow
The lowest chamber window on the east,
And whispers with a sort of stifled bark,
The beast,
“Come out! Come out!”—
It costs no inward struggle not to go,
Ah, no!
The Mower's Song
February 14, 2007 - 12:56am
by Andrew Marvell
My Mind was once the true survey
Of all these Medows fresh and gay;
And in the greenness of the Grass
Did see its Hopes as in a Glass;
When Juliana came, and she
What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.
Mutability
February 14, 2007 - 1:06am
by Percy Bysshe Shelley
The flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow dies;
All that we wish to stay
Tempts and then flies.
What is this world's delight?
Lightning that mocks the night,
Brief even as bright.
Men of Harlan
February 28, 2007 - 1:21am
by William Aspinwall Bradley
Here in the level country, where the creeks run straight and wide,
Six men upon their pacing nags may travel side by side.
But the mountain men of Harlan, you may tell them all the while,
When they pass through our village, for they ride in single file.
And the children, when they see them, stop their play and stand and cry,
"Here come the men of Harlan, men of Harlan, riding by!"
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