James Whitcomb Riley
Old Fashioned Roses
They ain't no style about 'em,
And they're sorto' pale and faded,
Yit the doorway here, without 'em,
Would be lonesomer, and shaded
With a good 'eal blacker shudder
Than the morning-glories makes,
And the sunshine would look sadder
Fer their good old-fashion' sakes.
I like 'em 'cause they kindo'--
Sorto' make a feller like 'em!
And I tell you, when I find a
Bunch out whur the sun kin strike 'em,
It allus sets me thinkin'
O' the ones 'at used to grow
And peek in thro' the chinkin'
O' the cabin, don't you know!
And then I think o' mother,
And how she ust to love 'em--
When they wuzn't any other,
'Less she found 'em up above 'em!
And her eyes, afore she shut 'em,
Whispered with a smile and said
We must pick a bunch and putt 'em
In her hand when she wuz dead.
But as I wuz a-sayin',
They ain't no style about 'em
Very gaudy er displayin',
But I wouldn't be without 'em--,
'Cause I'm happier in these posies,
And the hollyhawks and sich,
Than the hummin'-bird 'at noses
In the roses of the rich.
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(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(8 February 1911 – 6 October 1979)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Rainer Maria Rilke
(4 December 1875 – 29 December 1926)
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
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- If, Rudyard Kipling
- Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe
- Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas
- Sonnet XVII, Pablo Neruda
- Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost
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