If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run – Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it, And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!

There’s crimson buds, and white and blue, The very rainbow showers Have turned to blossoms where they fell, And sown the earth with flowers.

The rocky ledge runs far into the sea, And on its outer point, some miles away, The Lighthouse lifts its massive masonry, A pillar of fire by night, of cloud by day.

When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom’d, And the great star early droop’d in the western sky in the night, I mourn’d, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.

When beechen buds begin to swell, And woods the blue-bird’s warble know, The yellow violet’s modest bell Peeps from the last year’s leaves below.

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower, The periwinkle trailed its wreaths; And ’tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes.

Come and let us seek together Springtime lore of daffodils, Giving to the golden weather Greeting on the sun-warm hills.

Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers today; And give us not to think so far away As the uncertain harvest; keep us here All simply in the springing of the year.

Who planted daffodils In this rough, briary place? A woman once lived here A housewife, a poet. We have forgotten her blueberry pies, Her household ways, her verses.

Who planted daffodils in this rough, briary place? A woman once lived here A housewife, a poet. We have forgotten her blueberry pies, Her houshold ways, her verses.

I want to be famous to shuffling men Who smile while crossing streets Sticky children in grocery lines, Famous as the one who smiled back.

The sun was warm but the wind was chill. You know how it is with an April day. When the sun is out and the wind is still, You’re one month on in the middle of May.

Today is the day when bold kites fly When cumulus clouds roar across the sky. When robins return, when children cheer, When light rain beckons spring to appear.

But the ocean is filled with tears And the sea turns into a mirror There’s a whale in the moon when it’s clear And a bird on the tide.

I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade.

To move, to breathe, to fly, to float, to gain all while you give, To roam the roads of lands remote: To travel is to live.

Sharp is the night, but stars with frost alive Leap off the rim of earth across the dome. It is a night to make the heavens our home.
 

love is more thicker than forget more thinner than recall more seldom than a wave is wet more frequent than to fail.

For the listener, who listens in the snow, And, nothing himself, beholds Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.