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Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

This poem is in the public domain

Robert Lee Frost (1874 – 1963) American poet. His work was initially published in England before it was published in the United States. Known for his realistic depictions of rural life and his command of American colloquial speech, Frost frequently wrote about settings from rural life in New England in the early 20th century, using them to examine complex social and philosophical themes.
Frequently honored during his lifetime, Frost is the only poet to receive four Pulitzer Prizes for Poetry. He became one of America's rare "public literary figures, almost an artistic institution". He was awarded the Congressional Gold Medal in 1960 for his poetic works. On July 22, 1961, Frost was named poet laureate of Vermont. Wikipedia

Slim Sentinels
Stretching lacy arms
About a slumbrous moon;
Black quivering
Silhouettes,
Tremulous,
Stencilled on the petal
Of a bluebell;
Ink sputtered
On a robin’s breast;
The jagged rent
Of mountains
Reflected in a
Stilly sleeping lake;
Fragile pinnacles
Of fairy castles;
Torn webs of shadows;
And
Printed ’gainst the sky—
The trembling beauty
Of an urgent pine.

Helene Johnson (1906-1995) - Writer and poet during the Harlem Renaissance movement. Johnson published many poems in small magazines during the1920s and early 1930s, including the first and only issue of Fire!!. Although Johnson continued to write, and her work appeared in anthologies, she never published original poetry again. Read more

This poem is in the public domain.

Look, in the early light, 
   Down to the infinite 
   Depths at the deep grass-roots; 
  Where the sun shoots 
In golden veins, as looking through 
   A dear pool one sees it do; 
   Where campion drifts 
Its bladders, iris-brinded, through the rifts 
  Of rising, falling seed
   That the winds lightly scour—
Down to the matted earth where over 
   And over again crow’s-foot and clover
  And pink bindweed
  Dimly, steadily flower.

This poem is in the public domain.

Michael Field was a pseudonym used for the poetry and verse drama of the English authors Katherine Harris Bradley (1846 – 1914) and her niece and ward Edith Emma Cooper (1862 – 1913). As Field they wrote around 40 works together, and a long journal Works and Days. Their intention was to keep the pen-name secret, but it became public knowledge, not long after they had confided in their friend Robert Browning

"Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above"

Langston Hughes (1902 – 1967) American Poet, social activist, novelist, playwright, columnist.  More

Only a night from old to new!
Only a night, and so much wrought!
The Old Year's heart all weary grew,
But said: "The New Year rest has brought."
The Old Year's hopes its heart laid down,
As in a grave; but, trusting, said:
"The blossoms of the New Year's crown
Bloom from the ashes of the dead."
The Old Year's heart was full of greed;
With selfishness it longed and ached,
And cried: "I have not half I need.
My thirst is bitter and unslaked.
But to the New Year's generous hand
All gifts in plenty shall return;
True love it shall understand;
By all my failures it shall learn.
I have been reckless; it shall be
Quiet and calm and pure of life.
I was a slave; it shall go free,
And find sweet peace where I leave strife."
Only a night from old to new!
Never a night such changes brought.
The Old Year had its work to do;
No New Year miracles are wrought.

Always a night from old to new!
Night and the healing balm of sleep!
Each morn is New Year's morn come true,
Morn of a festival to keep.
All nights are sacred nights to make
Confession and resolve and prayer;
All days are sacred days to wake
New gladness in the sunny air.
Only a night from old to new;
Only a sleep from night to morn.
The new is but the old come true;
Each sunrise sees a new year born.

Helen Hunt Jackson - (1830 – 1885).  American poet and writer, born Helen Maria Fiske. She became an activist on behalf of improved treatment of Native Americans by the U. S. Government. Writing under her Pen name, H.H, she described the adverse effects of government actions in her history book,  "A Century of Dishonor" (1881). Her novel "Ramona "(1884) dramatized the federal government's mistreatment of Native Americans in Southern California after the Mexican–American War and attracted considerable attention to her cause  and estimated to have been reprinted 300 times. 

What can be said in New Year rhymes,
That's not been said a thousand times?

The new years come, the old years go,
We know we dream, we dream we know.

We rise up laughing with the light,
We lie down weeping with the night.

We hug the world until it stings,
We curse it then and sigh for wings.

We live, we love, we woo, we wed,
We wreathe our brides, we sheet our dead.

We laugh, we weep, we hope, we fear,
And that's the burden of the year.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox (November 5, 1850 – October 30, 1919) was an American author and poet. Her works include Poems of Passion and Solitude, which contains the lines "Laugh, and the world laughs with you; weep, and you weep alone." Her autobiography, "The Worlds and I", was published in 1918, a year before her death. Read more

"Because memory is what resists time and its powers of destruction, and it is something like the form that eternity can assume in that incessant transit. And although we (our conscience, our feelings, our harsh experience) are changing as the years go by, and also our skin and our wrinkles are becoming proof and testimony of this transition, there is something in us, deep inside, there in very dark regions, clinging tooth and nail to our childhood and to the past, to the people and to the land, to tradition and to the dreams, which seem to resist that tragic process: memory, the mysterious memory of ourselves, of what we are and what we were"

Translated from the Original Spanish version: La Resistencia  /  Ernesto Sábato  /  Seix Barral,  2000

"Porque la memoria es lo que resiste al tiempo y a sus poderes de destrucción, y es algo así como la forma que la eternidad puede asumir en ese incesante tránsito. Y aunque nosotros (nuestra conciencia, nuestros sentimientos, nuestra dura experiencia) vamos cambiando con los años, y también nuestra piel y nuestras arrugas van convirtiéndose en prueba y testimonio de ese tránsito, hay algo en nosotros, allá muy dentro, allá en regiones muy oscuras, aferrado con uñas y dientes a la infancia y al pasado, a la raza y a la tierra, a la tradición y a los sueños, que parece resistir a ese trágico proceso: la memoria, la misteriosa memoria de nosotros mismos, de lo que somos y de lo que fuimos”

"I slept, and dreamed that life was Beauty;
I woke, and found that life was Duty.
Was thy dream then a shadowy lie?
Toil on, sad heart, courageously,
And thou shalt find thy dream to be
A noonday light and truth to thee."

From The Dial (July 1840) p. 123  - I Slept, and Dreamed that Life was BeautyBy Ellen Sturgis Hooper

Like silver lamps in a distant shrine,
The stars are sparkling bright
The bells of the city of God ring out,
For the Son of Mary is born to-night.
The gloom is past and the morn at last
Is coming with orient light.

Never fell melodies half so sweet
As those which are filling the skies,
And never a palace shone half so fair
As the manger bed where our Saviour lies;
No night in the year is half so dear
    As this which has ended our sighs.

Now a new Power has come on the earth,
    A match for the armies of Hell:
A Child is born who shall conquer the foe,
    And all the spirits of wickedness quell:
For Mary’s Son is the Mighty One
    Whom the prophets of God fortell.

The stars of heaven still shine as at first
    They gleamed on this wonderful night;
The bells of the city of God peal out
    And the angels’ song still rings in the height;
And love still turns where the Godhead burns
    Hid in flesh from fleshly sight.

Faith sees no longer the stable floor,
    The pavement of sapphire is there
The clear light of heaven streams out to the world
    And the angels of God are crowding the air,
And heaven and earth, through the spotless birth
    Are at peace on this night so fair.

William Chatterton Dix (1837 - 1898) was an English writer of hymns and carols. He was born in Bristol,  He study for a mercantile career, and became manager of a maritime insurance company in Glasgow where he spent most of his life. Few modern writers have shown so signal a gift as his for the difficult art of hymn-writing. His original hymns are found in most modern hymn-books. Some of his carols, such as The Manger Throne have been very popular. His hymns and carols also include "As with Gladness Men of Old". What Child is this?, To Thee, O Lord, Our Hearts We Raise and Alleluia! Sing to Jesus.

Frail children of sorrow, dethroned by a hue,
The shadows are flecked by the rose sifting through,
The world has its motion, all things pass away;
No night is omnipotent, there must be day!

The oak tarries long in the depths of the seed
But swift is the season of nettle and weed,
Abide yet awhile in the mellowing shade
And rise with the hour for which you were made.

The cycle of seasons, the tidals of man,
Revolve in the orb of the infinite plan;
We move to the rhythm of ages long done,
And each has his hour — to dwell in the sun!

Georgia Douglas Johnson (1880 – 1966), American poet and playwright, music teacher and school principal, born in Atlanta, Georgia. She was an important figure of the Harlem Renaissance and one of the earliest female African-American playwiters. She published her first poems in 1916 in the NAACP’s magazine Crisis where she wrote a weekly column, “Homely Philosophy,” from 1926 to 1932. Douglas Johnson also wrote plays, and four collections of poetry: The Heart of  a Woman (1918). Bronze (1922) and An Autumn Love Cycle (1928), and Share My World (1962). More

               "NIght"

The night has a thousand eyes,
     And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
      With the dying sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes,
    And the heart but one:
Yet the light of a whole life dies
    When love is done.

Francis William Bourdillon (1852 - 1921) was a British poet, translator and a bibliophile. Bourdillon is known for his poetry, and in particular, for the single short poem "The Night Has a Thousand Eyes". He had many poem collections and essays published, including three smaller volumes of verse published anonymously at Oxford between 1891 and 1894.

Photo credit: RezaAskarii

My Heart Has Known Its Winter

A little while spring will claim its own,
In all the land around for mile on mile
Tender grass will hide the rugged stone.
My still heart will sing a little while.

And men will never think this wilderness
Was barren once when grass is over all,
Hearing laughter they may never guess
My heart has known its winter and carried gall.

This poem is in the public domain

Arna Bontemps (1902-1973)  Poet, writer, teacher, novelist. Born in Alexandria, Louisiana, the son of Creole parents. Bontemps published his first poem, "Hope" In 1924, which was followed by other poems, children's books and fiction writings; including "God Sends Sunday" (1931) and "You Can't Pet a Possum" (1934). He  published his novel "Black Thunder" in 1936  which is considered by some as his best work. Followed by the children's book "Sad-Faced Boy" (1937), and his novel, "Drums at Dusk" (1939). This book was more widely recognized than his other novels.