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.

Roll me over, in the clover,
When first thou didst entice to thee my heart,
Man may escape from rope and gun,
The murmur of the mourning ghost
Wo, hauing made with many fights his owne
Now the golden Morn aloft
The morwen com, and gostly for to speke,
I am a parcel of vain strivings tied