Emily Dickinson Dear March—Come in— How glad I am— I hoped for you before— Put down your Hat— You must have walked— How out of Breath you are— Dear March,…

Dante (1265-1321) Midway this way of life we’re bound upon,   I woke to find myself in a dark wood,   Where the right road was wholly lost and gone.  …

Bad-tempered, I got back: Then, In the Garden, The Willow Tree….

Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green, The night above the dingle starry, Time let…

Once through the forest  Alone I went;  To seek for nothing  My thoughts were bent.  I saw i’ the shadow  A flower stand there  As stars it glisten’d,  As eyes…

Glory be to God for dappled things, For skies of couple-color as a brinded cow, For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim; Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls, finches’ wings; Landscape plotted…

Come into the garden, Maud, For the black bat, night, has flown, Come into the garden, Maud, I am here at the gate alone ; And the woodbine spices are…

Imagine a wood in Wales, virtually in England a mile away as crows who nest in it fly. The wood is small and scruffy. Sheep can get in; a cow…

A single flow’r he sent me, since we met. All tenderly his messenger he chose; Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet — One perfect rose. I knew the language…