Vox Populi

A curated webspace for Poetry, Politics, and Nature with over 20,000 daily subscribers and over 8,000 archived posts.

William Wordsworth: My Heart Leaps Up

The Child is father of the Man…

December 8, 2023 · 3 Comments

John Clare: Autumn

Burning hot is the ground, liquid gold is the air;
Whoever looks round sees Eternity there.

November 17, 2023 · 7 Comments

Lord Byron: Epitaph to a Dog

…all the Virtues of Man
Without his Vices.

October 13, 2023 · 12 Comments

John Keats: When I have fears that I may cease to be 

When I have fears that I may cease to be 
  Before my pen has glean’d my teeming brain

June 23, 2023 · 4 Comments

Raphael Falco: How Bob Dylan used the ancient practice of ‘imitatio’ to craft some of the most original songs of his time

Bob Dylan is both a modern voice entirely unique and, at the same time, the product of ancient, time-honored ways of practicing and thinking about creativity.

January 27, 2023 · 5 Comments

John Clare: The Instinct of Hope

Is there another world for this frail dust
To warm with life and be itself again?

July 8, 2022 · 10 Comments

Video: Poetry and Immortality in Keats’ Ode to a Nightingale | Belinda Jack

John Keats’ “Ode to a Nightingale” — a lecture by Oxford Professor Belinda Jack

July 23, 2021 · 6 Comments

William Wordsworth: Lines Written in Early Spring

Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?

May 7, 2021 · 3 Comments

Leigh Hunt: Jenny Kiss'd Me

Time, you thief, who love to get
Sweets into your list, put that in!

April 9, 2021 · 5 Comments

John Clare: The Thunder Mutters

The thunder mutters louder & more loud
With quicker motion hay folks ply the rake

September 4, 2020 · 1 Comment

Samuel Taylor Coleridge: Frost at Midnight

Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee,
Whether the summer clothe the general earth
With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing
Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch…

February 21, 2020 · 2 Comments

John Clare: Summer

I’ll lean upon her breast and I’ll whisper in her ear
That I cannot get a wink o’sleep for thinking of my dear;
I hunger at my meat and I daily fade away
Like the hedge rose that is broken in the heat of the day.

June 28, 2019 · Leave a comment

John Clare: The Badger

The badger grunting on his woodland track
With shaggy hide and sharp nose scrowed with black
Roots in the bushes and the woods, and makes
A great high burrow in the ferns and brakes.

May 31, 2019 · Leave a comment

William Wordsworth: Tintern Abbey

Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey, On Revisiting the Banks of the Wye during a Tour. July 13, 1798 . Five years have past; five summers, with the … Continue reading

January 6, 2019 · 1 Comment

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