Personal Choice 65
The Dead Swagman His rusted billy left beside the tree; Under a root, most carefully tucked away, His steel-rimmed glasses folded in...
Personal Choice 64
Seamus Heaney The Forge All I know is a door into the dark, Outside, old axles and iron hoops rusting; Inside, the hammered anvil’s...
Personal Choice 63
Robert Frost Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village, though; He will not...
Personal Choice 62
Strawberries There were never strawberries like the ones we had that sultry afternoon sitting on the step of the open French window...
Personal Choice 61
Judith Wright The Old Prison The rows of cells are unroofed, a flute for the wind's mouth, who comes with a breath of ice from the blue...
Personal Choice 60
Gerard Manley Hopkins Spring and Fall to a young child Márgarét, áre you gríeving Over Goldengrove unleaving? Leáves like the things of...