Mad for Poetry

  If I should n’t Be Alive    When the robins come,    Give the one in red cravat    A memorial crumb.     If I could n’t thank you,    Being just asleep,    You will…

 If I may have it when it’s dead    I will contented be;    If just as soon as breath is out    It shall belong to me,     Until they lock…

If anybody’s friend be dead,    It ‘s sharpest of the theme    The thinking how they walked alive,    At such and such a time.     Their costume, of a Sunday,    Some…

  I’ve seen a dying eye    Run round and round a room    In search of something, as it seemed,    Then cloudier become;    And then, obscure with fog,    And then be soldered…

I’ve got an arrow here;    Loving the hand that sent it,    I the dart revere.     Fell, they will say, in ‘skirmish’!    Vanquished, my soul will know,    By but a…

I’m Nobody!    Who are you?    Are you nobody, too?    Then there’s a pair of us — don’t tell!    They ‘d banish us, you know.     How dreary to be somebody!    How…

I worked for chaff, and earning wheat    Was haughty and betrayed.    What right had fields to arbitrate    In matters ratified?     I tasted wheat, — and hated chaff,    And thanked…

I wonder if the sepulchre    Is not a lonesome way,    When men and boys, and larks and June    Go down the fields to hay!

I wish I knew that woman’s name,    So, when she comes this way,    To hold my life, and hold my ears,    For fear I hear her say     She’s…