| Closing Line | Poem | Author |
|---|
| I shot the ALBATROSS. | |
| Shall be lifted - nevermore! | |
| And that has made all the difference. | |
| Fallen cold and dead. | |
| I shall but love thee better after death. | |
| For the caged bird sings of freedom. | |
| Rage, rage against the dying of the light. | |
| Each burning deed and thought. | |
| I lift my lamp beside the golden door! | |
| Fled is that music:--Do I wake or sleep? | |
| But only God can make a tree. | |
| A heart whose love is innocent! | |
| Noble six hundred. | |
| Our God is marching on. | |
| I am the captain of my soul. | |
| It tolls for thee. | |
| Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. | |
| O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave. | |
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