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Random Poem


The random poem generator takes the first lines of nearly 3,900 poems to make a new poem. To see the full list of what's included, click here.

It fell about the Martinmas,
Dear mother, dear mother, the church is cold,
My days among the Dead are past,
I heard men saying, Leave hope and praying,
I've trod the links with many a man,
Beyond a ridge of pine with russet tips
Deare, why make you more of a dog then me?
Rain, midnight rain, nothing but the wild rain

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We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams.
— Arthur O'Shaughnessy