Belisarius (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Poem)
I am poor and old and blind; The sun burns me, and the wind Blows through the city gate And ...
I am poor and old and blind; The sun burns me, and the wind Blows through the city gate And ...
the bitterest cup vile taste of all of our sin to his lips, death, life February 3, 2009 (Raymond A. ...
It don't sound so terrible -- quite -- as it did -- I run it over -- "Dead", Brain, "Dead." ...
Lough, vessel, plough the British main, Seek the free ocean's wider plain; Leave English scenes and English skies, Unbind, dissever ...
The moon is full this winter night; The stars are clear, though few; And every window glistens bright, With leaves ...
I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name; There is grief in the sound, there is guilt ...
I My love, this is the bitterest, that thou Who art all truth and who dost love me now As ...
And the first grey of morning fill'd the east, And the fog rose out of the Oxus stream. But all ...
The vision of Christ that thou dost see Is my vision's greatest enemy. Thine has a great hook nose like ...
WHEN I peruse the conquer'd fame of heroes, and the victories of mighty generals, I do not envy the generals, ...
The sky is like an envelope, One of those blue official things; And, sealing it, to mock our hope, The ...
What man has not betrayed Some sacred trust? If haply you are made Of honest dust, Vaunt not of glory ...
What was the blackest sight to me Of all that campaign? A naked woman tied to a tree With jagged ...
Don't cheer, damn you! Don't cheer! Silence! Your bitterest tear Is fulsomely sweet to-day. . . . Down on your ...
Something spreading underground won't speak to us under skin won't declare itself not all life-forms want dialogue with the machine-gods ...
Bound for your distant home you were leaving alien lands. In an hour as sad as I've known I wept ...
My hand, a little raised, might press a star- Where I may look, the frosted peaks are spun, So shaped ...
'Twas in the year of 1650, and on the twenty-first of May, The city of Edinburgh was put into a ...
If Mary had known When she held her Babe's hands in her own Little hands that were tender and white ...
You have become a forge of snow-white fire, A crucible of molten steel, O France! Your sons are stars who ...
A True Incident of Pre-Revolutionary French History. Now the lovely autumn morning breathes its freshness in earth's face, In the ...
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