Poetry Quiz answers
The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide,
And I am next of kin;
The guests are met, the feast is set:
May'st hear the merry din.'
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
The rain set early in to-night,
The sullen wind was soon awake,
It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
And did its worst to vex the lake:
Porphyria's Lover by Robert Browning
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom
Sonnet 116 by William Shakespeare
May no fate willfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return. Earth's the right place for love:
I don't know where it's likely to go better.
Birches by Robert Frost
Sun, rain, curving sky
Mountain, oceans, leaf and stone
Star shine, moon glow
You're all that I can call my own.
Woman Work by Maya Angelou
But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.
Crossing the Bar by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Like shut-eyed half-submerged Nile bulls
The buildings tremble with breath.
Heatwave by Ted Hughes
Currants and gooseberries,
Figs to fill your mouth,
Citrons from the South,
Goblin Market by Christina Rossetti
My heart forgets,
While pityless the tempest wild
Sore on you beats.
A Winter Night by Robert Burns
Each year I hoped they'd keep, knew they would not.
Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney
And one day
Side by side
In big wicker baskets
Walking through the market
To realize their dream
Ode to the Artichoke by Pablo Neruda
He drowsed and was aware of silence heaped
Round him, unshaken as the steadfast walls;
Aqueous like floating rays of amber light,
Soaring and quivering in the wings of sleep.
The Death Bed by Siegfried Sassoon
She came from a long, long way,
but I saw her at last, walking,
my daughter, my girl, across the fields,
Demeter by Carol Ann Duffy
But all the clocks in the city
Began to whirr and chime:
“O let not Time deceive you,
You cannot conquer Time.
As I walked out one Evening by W.H. Auden
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me – filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe
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