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English poetry with reading along.

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@english_poetry : Hyla Brook By Robert Frost By June our brook’s run out of song and speed. Sought for much after that, it will be found Either to have gone groping underground (And taken with it all the Hyla breed That shouted in the mist a month ago, Like ghost of sleigh-bells in a ghost of snow)— Or flourished and come up in jewel-^, Weak foliage that is blown upon and bent Even against the way its waters went. Its bed is left a faded paper sheet Of dead leaves stuck together by the heat— A brook to none b

@english_poetry : Hey, this is your admin, sorry I haven't been posting much lately, I was working on my musical project, check it out: https://youtu.be/r02G_uhFqTY

@english_poetry : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SAa6qdBN7Z0

@english_poetry : Invictus by William Ernest Henley Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds and shall find me unafraid. It matters not how strait th

@english_poetry : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s6NpAEKmt7Y

@english_poetry : All for Love by Lord George Byron O talk not to me of a name great in story; The days of our youth are the days of our glory; And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty. What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled? ‘Tis but as a dead flower with May-dew besprinkled: Then away with all such from the head that is hoary— What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory? O Fame! if I e’er took delight in thy praises, ‘Twas le

@english_poetry : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4xyRILDEFdE

@english_poetry : Alone By Edgar Allan Poe From childhood’s hour I have not been As others were—I have not seen As others saw—I could not bring My passions from a common spring— From the same source I have not taken My sorrow—I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone— And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone— Then—in my childhood—in the dawn Of a most stormy life—was drawn From ev’ry depth of good and ill The mystery which binds me still— From the torrent, or the fountain— From the red cliff of the mountain— From

@english_poetry : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pO2dg0VN4Tg