Stepping Westward (Denise Levertov Poem)
What is green in me darkens, muscadine. If woman is inconstant, good, I am faithful to ebb and flow, I ...
What is green in me darkens, muscadine. If woman is inconstant, good, I am faithful to ebb and flow, I ...
Playing her parchment moon Precosia comes along a watery path of laurels and crystal lights. The starless silence, fleeing from ...
You shall hear how Pau-Puk-Keewis, How the handsome Yenadizze Danced at Hiawatha's wedding; How the gentle Chibiabos, He the sweetest ...
1 Dear ghosts, dear presences, O my dear parents, Why were you so sad on porches, whispering? What great melancholies ...
'My father still reads the dictionary every day. He says your life depends on your power to master words.' Arthur ...
A Nation of trees, drab green and desolate grey In the field uniform of modern wars, Darkens her hills, those ...
A Christmas prayer, an Advent prayer, lifted up to your, oh my Lord that your spirit would descend on each ...
When the evening darkens and the day cools and the stars flicker to light I sat on the blanket with ...
Wordsworth, thy music like a river rolls Among the mountains, and thy song is fed By living springs far up ...
I PRELUDE Daughter of Psyche, pledge of that last night When, pierced with pain and bitter-sweet delight, She knew her ...
Over and back, the long waves crawl and track the sand with foam; night darkens, and the sea takes on ...
O! Und dann wieder dies Bei-sich-selbst-Sein! Diese Stummheiten! Dies Getriebenwerden! .................................................................................. O! And then to be with -our -very -selves! ...
Love is a breach in the walls, a broken gate, Where that comes in that shall not go again; Love ...
LARA. CANTO THE FIRST. I. The Serfs are glad through Lara's wide domain, And slavery half forgets her ...
'This envelope you say has something in it Which once belonged to your dead son-or something He knew, was fond ...
Through Alpine meadows soft-suffused With rain, where thick the crocus blows, Past the dark forges long disused, The mule-track from ...
Est brevitate opus, ut currat sententia, neu se Impediat verbis lassas onerantibus aures: Et sermone opus est modo tristi, saepe ...
In these deep solitudes and awful cells, Where heav'nly-pensive contemplation dwells, And ever-musing melancholy reigns; What means this tumult in ...
for Susan O'Neill Roe What a thrill ---- My thumb instead of an onion. The top quite gone Except for ...
I will think no more of the sea! Of the big green waves And the hollowed shore, Of the brown ...
Of Man's first disobedience, and the fruit Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste Brought death into the World, and ...
What heartache -- ne'er a hill! Inexorable, vapid, vague and chill The drear sand-levels drain my spirit low. With one ...
© 2020 Inspirational Stories