In the summer months on every crossing to Piraeus One noticed that certain passengers soon rose From seats in the packed saloon and...

No Coward Soul is Mine by Emily Brontë No coward soul is mine, No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere: I see Heaven's...

The bee is not afraid of me, I know the butterfly; The pretty people in the woods Receive me cordially. The brooks laugh louder when I...

This is my letter to the World That never wrote to Me— The simple News that Nature told— With tender Majesty Her Message is committed ...

As writers we are obliged to protect our copyright. Since our books are diffused through many channels which exist today, we have to...

I like to see it lap the Miles, And lick the valleys up, And stop to feed itself at tanks; And then, prodigious, step Around a pile...

The Frost performs its secret ministry, Unhelped by any wind. The owlet's cry Came loud—and hark, again! loud as before. The inmates of...

Fame is a bee. It has a song— It has a sting— Ah, too, it has a wing.

by Al Winans sing like a hammer sings to a nail tread softly through the night where dreams lay like land mines waiting to explode on...

“For poetry makes nothing happen: it survives In the valley of its making where executives Would never want to tamper, flows on south ...