Away Down Home (John Charles McNeill Poems)
'T will not be long before they hearThe bullbat on the hill,And in the valley through the duskThe pastoral whippoorwill.A ...
'T will not be long before they hearThe bullbat on the hill,And in the valley through the duskThe pastoral whippoorwill.A ...
When April woke the drowsy flowers, And vagrant odors thronged the breeze,And bluebirds wrangled in the bowers, And daisies flashed along the ...
I am afraid to go into the woods,I fear the trees and their mad, green moods.I fear the breezes that ...
Poet and friend of poets, if thy glassDetects no flower in winter's tuft of grass,Let this slight token of the ...
I.IN the beautiful Castleton Island a mansion of lordly style,Embowered in gardens and lawns, looks over the glimmering bay.In the ...
Lucilla, wedded to Lucretius, foundHer master cold; for when the morning flushOf passion and the first embrace had died Between ...
Ah! the pleasant time hath vanished, ere our wretched doubtingsbanished,All the graceful spirit-people, children of the earth and sea,Whom in ...
——— A manly race Of unsubmitting spirit, wise and brave; Who still through bleeding ages struggled hard To hold a ...
Long, long ago, it seems, this summer mornThat pale-browed April passed with pensive treadThrough the frore woods, and from its ...
The house in Broad Street, red brick, with nine rooms the weedgrown graveyard with its rows of tombs the jail ...
I SEE the hell of faces surge and whirl, Like malestrom in the ocean--faces lean And fleshless as the talons ...
I. A MOTH belated,-sun and zephyr-kist,- Trembling about a pale arbutus bell, Probing to wildering depths its honeyed cell,- A ...
Every year Emily Dickinson sent one friendthe first arbutus bud in her garden. In a last will and testament Andrew ...
They are the ghosts of flowers, The blossoms of fairer hours, I see on the window-pane! They died in woodland ...
Oft have I walked these woodland paths,Without the blessed foreknowingThat underneath the withered leavesThe fairest buds were growing.To-day the south-wind ...
I Like a gaunt, scraggly pine Which lifts its head above the mournful sandhills; And patiently, through dull years of ...
I Ah, who will tell me, in these leaden days, Why the sweet Spring delays, And where she hides, -- ...
Lucilla, wedded to Lucretius, found Her master cold; for when the morning flush Of passion and the first embrace had ...
EVERY year Emily Dickinson sent one friend the first arbutus bud in her garden. In a last will and testament ...
After seeing at Boston the statue of Robert Gould Shaw, killed while storming Fort Wagner, July 18, 1863, at the ...
Ye who are kicking against Fate, Tell me how it is that on this hill-side, Running down to the river, ...
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