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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
Rhyming Dictionary Search
RYE FIELD, by BOB KAVEN
First Line: We walk into the rye field
Last Line: The cold clasping our hands, %breath the color of doves
First Line: We walk into the rye field
Last Line: The cold clasping our hands, %breath the color of doves
Other Poems of Interest...
SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 18 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING
A MORE ANCIENT MARINER by BLISS CARMAN
MELANCHOLIE by JOSEPH BEAUMONT
THE GLORIOUS GIFT OF GOD by BENJAMIN BEDDOME
THE FAST OF TEBETH by JOSEPH BEN SAMUEL BONFILS
A PASTORAL OF PHILLIS AND CORYDON by NICHOLAS BRETON