Ode To A Nightingale

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thy happiness,--- That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

Ode On A Grecian Urn

Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?

Ode To The Moon

Ode To The Moon - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Usually after the sun's disappear Weary birds return their nests, Tired workers close day-works All get back respective home, The house wives make dinner Silently the night falls on them

Ode To Autumn

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run; To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease,

Ode On Solitude

Happy the man, whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air, In his own ground. Whose heards with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire, Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter fire.

Ode To The West Wind

I O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being, Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou, Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed

Ode To The Book

When I close a book I open life. I hear faltering cries among harbours. Copper ignots slide down sand-pits to Tocopilla. Night time. Among the islands

Ode To Sadness

Sadness, scarab with seven crippled feet, spiderweb egg, scramble-brained rat, bitch's skeleton: No entry here. Don't come in. Go away. Go back south with your umbrella,

Ode To A Large Tuna In The Market

Among the market greens, a bullet from the ocean depths, a swimming projectile, I saw you, dead. All around you

Ode To Salt

This salt in the salt cellar I once saw in the salt mines. I know you won't believe me but it sings salt sings, the skin of the salt mines

Ode To Wine

Day-colored wine, night-colored wine, wine with purple feet or wine with topaz blood, wine, starry child of earth, wine, smooth as a golden sword, soft

Ode On Intimations Of Immortality From Recollections Of Early Childhood

The Child is father of the Man; And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety. I There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem

A Tale Of The Thirteenth Floor

The hands of the clock were reaching high In an old midtown hotel; I name no name, but its sordid fame Is table talk in hell. I name no name, but hell's own flame Illumes the lobby garish, A gilded snare just off Times Square For the maidens of the parish. The revolving door swept the grimy floor

Ode To Maize

America, from a grain of maize you grew to crown with spacious lands the ocean foam. A grain of maize was your geography. From the grain a green lance rose, was covered with gold, to grace the heights

Ode To A Poet

Ode To A Poet .................... Hey poet! You are a great, You think of mankind Universe, nature and God, Civilizations, cultures, societies Countries, nations and communities, These all are the very subjects of you, poet

Ode

The spacious firmament on high, With all the blue ethereal sky, And spangled heav'ns, a shining frame, Their great original proclaim: Th' unwearied Sun, from day to day, Does his Creator's power display, And publishes to every land The work of an Almighty Hand. Soon as the evening shades prevail,

Ode To Broken Things

Things get broken at home like they were pushed by an invisible, deliberate smasher. It's not my hands or yours It wasn't the girls with their hard fingernails or the motion of the planet. It wasn't anything or anybody

Ode To Neptune

On Mrs. W-----'s Voyage to England. I. WHILE raging tempests shake the shore, While AElus' thunders round us roar, And sweep impetuous o'er the plain Be still, O tyrant of the main; Nor let thy brow contracted frowns betray, While my Susanna skims the wat'ry way.

Ode

Bards of Passion and of Mirth, Ye have left your souls on earth! Have ye souls in heaven too, Double lived in regions new? Yes, and those of heaven commune With the spheres of sun and moon; With the noise of fountains wound'rous, And the parle of voices thund'rous; With the whisper of heaven's trees And one another, in soft ease.

Oatmeal

I eat oatmeal for breakfast. I make it on the hot plate and put skimmed milk on it. I eat it alone. I am aware it is not good to eat oatmeal alone. Its consistency is such that is better for your mental health if somebody eats it with you. That is why I often think up an imaginary companion to have breakfast with. Possibly it is even worse to eat oatmeal with an imaginary companion.