By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Under a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large…
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large…
Explore Poems: Town & Country Life
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- By Tamsin MooreLong, empty roads stretching as long as the gas tank is willing—
Sixty-seven dollars left from last … - By Alice OswaldIt's a rush, a sploosh of sewage, twenty thousand cubic metres being pumped in, stirred and settled …
- By Remica Bingham-RisherBut for the grace of God
one might begin and
this must be the life of a woman. I will barely touch the… - By James JoyceHe travels after a winter sun,
Urging the cattle along a cold red road,
Calling to them, a voice they … - By Isabel Duarte-GraySunday we lay hands
on a girl of ten hand on hand on
cornsilk hair. We sing
the secret language sung… - By Benjamin GucciardiWe lived in a stone farmhouse at the edge of town.
I’d been assigned to process asylum claims
and you… - By Anna TomlinsonSauerkraut festival, sauerkraut ice cream from a tiny paper cup.
Places you could get lost in. Bike … - By John TickhillIn springtime, chief of all seasons,
in May when new joys rise and flourish,
the sun is lord and messenger… - By William BlakeSweet Mary, the first time she ever was there,
Came into the Ball room among the Fair;
The young Men… - By Tracy K. Smith200 cows more than 600 hilly acres
property would have been even larger
had J not sold 66 acres to … - By Bruce SniderShe lip-syncs “Hello God,” then “9 to 5.”
She struts. Or does she fly? Like the soul,
a rhinestone, … - By Tristan Tzarathen the clouds rolled in
young is the night that is to say
a cellophane softness ensued
which blew … - By CAConradGrowing up in a rural factory town I watched my creative family extend the grind oft monotonous jobs…
- By Osip MandelstamToo black, too much indulged, living in clover,
all little withers, all air, all charity,
all crumbling… - By RK FauthTake me to the holler.
I want to see the cows
Big Mamaw’s grave and
something about tobacco fields.
… - By Daye PhillippoI have learned to love turning a bar of soap
and the calendar’s empty pages in my hands,
soft lather… - By Pablo OtavaloIn midsentence. Like a pregnant sow
in another mud- and mire-laden trench,
your hay-stuffed midland … - By Tina Mozelle BrazielMy first trip, I scoured every floor
of the MoMA, winding around other patrons
before they could read… - By Donald HallDecember, and the closing of the year;
The momentary carolers complete
Their Christmas Eves, and quickly…