| Line | Poem | Author |
| The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day... | |
| 'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves... | |
| Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary... | |
| Of Man's first disobedience, and the fruit of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste... | |
| Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying... | |
| Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone... | |
| Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky... | |
| Half a league, half a league, half a league onwards... | |
| I met a traveller from an ancient land who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone... | |
| Two roads diverged in a yellow wood... | |
| The rain set early in tonight, The sullen wind was soon awake, It tore the elm-tops down for spite... | |
| A free bird leaps on the back Of the wind and floats downstream... | |
| The tree has entered my hands, The sap has ascended my arms... | |
| I celebrate myself, and sing myself, and what I assume you shall assume... | |
| Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate... | |
| He is stark mad, who ever says, That he hath been in love an hour... | |