The Red Wheelbarrow by William Carlos Williamsso much depends upon 

a red wheel barrow 

glazed with rain water 

beside the white chickens

This Is Just To Say by William Carlos WilliamsI have eatenthe plumsthat were inthe icebox

and whichyou were probablysavingfor breakfast

Forgive methey were deliciousso sweetand so cold

The Poem by William Carlos Williamst's all inthe sound. A song.Seldom a song. It should

be a song—made ofparticulars, wasps,a gentian—somethingimmediate, open

scissors, a lady'seyes—wakingcentrifugal, centripetal.

The Argument of His Book by Robert HerrickI sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers,Of April, May, of June, and July flowers.I sing of May-poles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes,Of bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridal-cakes.I write of youth, of love, and have accessBy these to sing of cleanly wantonness.I sing of dews, of rains, and piece by pieceOf balm, of oil, of spice, and ambergris.I sing of Time's trans-shifting; and I writeHow roses first came red, and lilies white.I write of groves, of twilights, and I singThe court of Mab, and of the fairy king.I write of Hell; I sing (and ever shall)Of Heaven, and hope to have it after all.