Poetry holds a place in my heart

1923 New Hampshire

Dust of Snow
by Robert Frost
The way a crow

Shook down on me

The dust of snow

From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart

A change of mood

And saved some part

Of a day I had rued.

Summer is Ended
by Christina Georgina Rossetti
To think that this meaningless thing was ever a rose,

Scentless, colourless, this!

Will it ever be thus (who knows?)

Thus with our bliss,If we wait till the close?

Though we care not to wait for the end, there comes the end

Sooner, later, at last,

Which nothing can mar, nothing mend:

An end locked fast,

Bent we cannot re-bend.