Poems in the Public Domain
InterPure
If You Knew
Ruth Muskrat Bronson (1897-1982) If you could know the empty ache of loneliness, Masked well behind the calm indifferent face Of us who pass you by in studied hurriedness, Intent upon our way,lest in the little space Of one forgetful moment hungry eyes implore You to be kind, to open up your heart a little more, I’m sure you’d smile a little kindlier, sometimes, To those of us you’ve never seen before. If you could know the eagerness we’d grasp The hand you’d give to us in friendliness; What vast, potential friendship in that clasp We’d press, and love you for your gentleness; If you could know the wide, wide reach Of love that simple friendliness could teach, I’m sure you’d say “Hello, my friend,” sometimes, And now and then extend a hand in friendliness to each.The wind was a are-free soul
Gwendolyn Bennett (1902-1981) The wind was a care-free soul That broke the chains of earth, And strode for a moment across the land With the wild halloo of his mirth. He little cared that he ripped up trees, That houses fell at his hand, That his step broke calm on the breast of seas, That his feet stirred clouds of sand. But when he had had his little joke, Had shouted and laughed and sung, When the trees were scarred, their branches broke, And their foliage aching hung, He crept to his cave with a stealthy tread, With rain-filled eyes and low-bowed head.Poetry “sings the language” and connects people
Poetry can be a powerful way to express emotions and thoughts. It helps express and process feelings, which contributes to emotional development. In addition, poetry encourages creative thinking and language skills.Moreover, poetry can help us feel connected to others. Reading and writing poems allows us to share experiences and perspectives, which promotes empathy and understanding. And of course poetry can also be a source of comfort and inspiration, especially in difficult times.Two poems are added to the site every month. I would like others to enjoy these poems too. Poetry “sings the language” and connects people.Nothing to do
James Ephraim McGirt (1874-1930) The fields are white, The laborers are few; Yet say the idle, There’s nothing to do. Jails are crowded, In Sunday Schools few; We still complain There’s nothing to do. Drunkards are dying, Your sons, it is true; Mothers’ arms folded, With nothing to do. Heathens are dying, Their blood falls on you; How can you people Find nothing to do?.Fishmonger
Marsden Hartley (1877-1943) I have taken scales from off The cheeks of the moon. I have made fins from bluejays’ wings, I have made eyes from damsons in the shadow. I have taken flushes from the peachlips in the sun. From all these I have made a fish of heaven for you, Set it swimming on a young October sky. I sit on the bank of the stream and watch The grasses in amazement As they turn to ashy gold. Are the fishes from the rainbow Still beautiful to you, For whom they are made, For whom I have set them, Swimming?
About
InterPure is a personal website. Over the years hundreds of poems in the public domain have been colleted. The poems and poets can be found on the worldwide web. If you are charmed by a poet, you can search the internet for more poems and background information on the poet. I post two new poems on the site every month. After ten poems have been replaced by new ones, the replaced poems are bundled into a PDF document and are available to download for free. This way, you can still enjoy the poems you missed. Download poems 2025 Do you work in education? Then take a look at blomke.com. Here you will find poems with assignments for students.
Copyright Interpure 2026
Contact
It is best to use the form to contact us. By submitting the form, you agree to store your name and email address in our database so that we can notify you when poems are available for download on our site. Email: mailADDinterpure.eu Web: https://interpure.eu The NetherlandsHow Do I Love Thee?
Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806 – 1861) How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of every day's Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after deathShe Walks In Beauty
Lord Byron (1788—1824) She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!Fame
Charlotte Mew (1869-1928) Sometimes in the over-heated house, but not for long, Smirking and speaking rather loud, I see myself among the crowd, Where no one fits the singer to his song, Or sifts the unpainted from the painted faces Of the people who are always on my stair; They were not with me when I walked in heavenly places; But could I spare In the blind Earth’s great silences and spaces, The din, the scuffle, the long stare If I went back and it was not there? Back to the old known things that are the new, The folded glory of the gorse, the sweet-briar air, To the larks that cannot praise us, knowing nothing of what we do And the divine, wise trees that do not care Yet, to leave Fame, still with such eyes and that bright hair! God! If I might! And before I go hence Take in her stead To our tossed bed, One little dream, no matter how small, how wild. Just now, I think I found it in a field, under a fence— A frail, dead, new-born lamb, ghostly and pitiful and white, A blot upon the night, The moon’s dropped child!With Child
Genevieve Taggard (1894-1948) Now I am slow and placid, fond of sun, Like a sleek beast, or a worn one: No slim and languid girl—not glad With the windy trip I once had, But velvet-footed, musing of my own, Torpid, mellow, stupid as a stone. You cleft me with your beauty’s pulse, and now Your pulse has taken body. Care not how The old grace goes, how heavy I am grown, Big with this loneliness, how you alone Ponder our love. Touch my feet and feel How earth tingles, teeming at my heel! Earth’s urge, not mine,—my little death, not hers; And the pure beauty yearns and stirs. It does not heed our ecstacies, it turns With secrets of its own, its own concerns, Toward a windy world of its own, toward stark And solitary places. In the dark, Defiant even now, it tugs and moans To be untangled from these mother’s bones.
Poems in the Public Domain
InterPure
If You Knew
Ruth Muskrat Bronson (1897-1982) If you could know the empty ache of loneliness, Masked well behind the calm indifferent face Of us who pass you by in studied hurriedness, Intent upon our way,lest in the little space Of one forgetful moment hungry eyes implore You to be kind, to open up your heart a little more, I’m sure you’d smile a little kindlier, sometimes, To those of us you’ve never seen before. If you could know the eagerness we’d grasp The hand you’d give to us in friendliness; What vast, potential friendship in that clasp We’d press, and love you for your gentleness; If you could know the wide, wide reach Of love that simple friendliness could teach, I’m sure you’d say “Hello, my friend,” sometimes, And now and then extend a hand in friendliness to each.The wind was a are-free soul
Gwendolyn Bennett (1902-1981) The wind was a care-free soul That broke the chains of earth, And strode for a moment across the land With the wild halloo of his mirth. He little cared that he ripped up trees, That houses fell at his hand, That his step broke calm on the breast of seas, That his feet stirred clouds of sand. But when he had had his little joke, Had shouted and laughed and sung, When the trees were scarred, their branches broke, And their foliage aching hung, He crept to his cave with a stealthy tread, With rain-filled eyes and low-bowed head.Poetry “sings the language” and
connects people
Poetry can be a powerful way to express emotions and thoughts. It helps express and process feelings, which contributes to emotional development. In addition, poetry encourages creative thinking and language skills.Moreover, poetry can help us feel connected to others. Reading and writing poems allows us to share experiences and perspectives, which promotes empathy and understanding. And of course poetry can also be a source of comfort and inspiration, especially in difficult times.Two poems are added to the site every month. I would like others to enjoy these poems too. Poetry “sings the language” and connects people.Nothing to do
James Ephraim McGirt (1874-1930) The fields are white, The laborers are few; Yet say the idle, There’s nothing to do. Jails are crowded, In Sunday Schools few; We still complain There’s nothing to do. Drunkards are dying, Your sons, it is true; Mothers’ arms folded, With nothing to do. Heathens are dying, Their blood falls on you; How can you people Find nothing to do?.Fishmonger
Marsden Hartley (1877-1943) I have taken scales from off The cheeks of the moon. I have made fins from bluejays’ wings, I have made eyes from damsons in the shadow. I have taken flushes from the peachlips in the sun. From all these I have made a fish of heaven for you, Set it swimming on a young October sky. I sit on the bank of the stream and watch The grasses in amazement As they turn to ashy gold. Are the fishes from the rainbow Still beautiful to you, For whom they are made, For whom I have set them, Swimming?
About
InterPure is a personal website. Over the years hundreds of poems in the public domain have been colleted. The poems and poets can be found on the worldwide web. If you are charmed by a poet, you can search the internet for more poems and background information on the poet. I post two new poems on the site every month. After ten poems have been replaced by new ones, the replaced poems are bundled into a PDF document and are available to download for free. This way, you can still enjoy the poems you missed. Download poems 2025 Do you work in education? Then take a look at blomke.com . Here you will find poems with assignments for students.Contact
It is best to use the form to contact us. By submitting the form, you agree to store your name and email address in our database so that we can notify you when poems are available for download on our site. Email: mailADDinterpure.eu Web: https://interpure.eu The NetherlandsHow Do I Love Thee?
Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806 – 1861) How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of every day's Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after deathShe Walks In Beauty
Lord Byron (1788—1824) She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!Fame
Charlotte Mew (1869-1928) Sometimes in the over-heated house, but not for long, Smirking and speaking rather loud, I see myself among the crowd, Where no one fits the singer to his song, Or sifts the unpainted from the painted faces Of the people who are always on my stair; They were not with me when I walked in heavenly places; But could I spare In the blind Earth’s great silences and spaces, The din, the scuffle, the long stare If I went back and it was not there? Back to the old known things that are the new, The folded glory of the gorse, the sweet-briar air, To the larks that cannot praise us, knowing nothing of what we do And the divine, wise trees that do not care Yet, to leave Fame, still with such eyes and that bright hair! God! If I might! And before I go hence Take in her stead To our tossed bed, One little dream, no matter how small, how wild. Just now, I think I found it in a field, under a fence— A frail, dead, new-born lamb, ghostly and pitiful and white, A blot upon the night, The moon’s dropped child!With Child
Genevieve Taggard (1894-1948) Now I am slow and placid, fond of sun, Like a sleek beast, or a worn one: No slim and languid girl—not glad With the windy trip I once had, But velvet-footed, musing of my own, Torpid, mellow, stupid as a stone. You cleft me with your beauty’s pulse, and now Your pulse has taken body. Care not how The old grace goes, how heavy I am grown, Big with this loneliness, how you alone Ponder our love. Touch my feet and feel How earth tingles, teeming at my heel! Earth’s urge, not mine,—my little death, not hers; And the pure beauty yearns and stirs. It does not heed our ecstacies, it turns With secrets of its own, its own concerns, Toward a windy world of its own, toward stark And solitary places. In the dark, Defiant even now, it tugs and moans To be untangled from these mother’s bones.