Young Writers Society


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.

The world below the brine,
When we come to the end of the furrow,
Whan bells war rung, an mass was sung,
There is no woman living that draws breath
Mademoiselle from Armenti?res, Parley-voo?
An evil spirit, your beauty, haunts me still,
I rode one evening with Count Maddalo
Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!

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Nobody wants to see the village of the happy people.
— Lew Hunter