Poets
- William Shakespeare
- Emily Dickinson
- Percy Bysshe Shelley
- Alfred, Lord Tennyson
- Thomas Gray
- Christina Georgina Rossetti
- Robbie Burns
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
- William Wordsworth
- John Keats
- Bishop Brent
- Henry Scott Holland
- Khalil Gibran
- Robert Herrick
- George Herbert
- Anonymous
- Ben Jonson
- David Harkins
- Joyce Grenfell
- William Allingham
- Samuel Taylor Coleridge
- Sir Walter Raleigh
- John Donne
- William Henry Davies
- William Oldys
- Robert Browning
- Elizabeth Barrett Browning
- Anne Bradstreet
- William Johnson Cory
- Lord Byron
- Rupert Brooke
- Emily Bronte
- Clare Harner
A Dirge
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Why were you born when the snow was falling?
You should have come to the cuckoo’s calling,
Or when grapes are green in the cluster,
Or, at least, when lithe swallows muster
For their far off flying
From summer dying.
Why did you die when the lambs were cropping?
You should have died at the apples’ dropping,
When the grasshopper comes to trouble,
And the wheat-fields are sodden stubble,
And all winds go sighing
For sweet things dying.
Christina Georgina Rossetti
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