Poem Tag

WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY   Out of the night that covers me,        Black as the pit from pole to pole,  I thank whatever gods may be        For my unconquerable soul.    In the fell clutch of

T S ELIOT   I The winter evening settles down With smell of steaks in passageways. Six o’clock. The burnt-out ends of smoky days. And now a gusty shower wraps The grimy scraps Of withered leaves about

ROBERT FROST   Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To

STEVIE SMITH   Nobody heard him, the dead man,    But still he lay moaning: I was much further out than you thought    And not waving but drowning.   Poor chap, he always loved larking And now he’s