London Siren (Alan Pryce-Jones Poems)
I sat at a high window till sleep despaired of meAnd all the anger in this small roomShook me for ...
I sat at a high window till sleep despaired of meAnd all the anger in this small roomShook me for ...
_Stanzas from "Onegin"_Our Northern Winter's fickle Summer,Than Southern Winter scarce more bland--Is undeniably withdrawingOn fleeting footsteps from the land.Soon will ...
ME , from the source of every comfort torn,Condemn'd in pensive solitude to mourn,Me, a devoted prey to pain and ...
Beneath a lamp in Spring-street, on a recent calm spring night,I came unwittingly upon a most pathetic sight;A sorry spectacle ...
WITH oaken staff and swinging lantern bright, He strolls at midnight when the world is still Through dismal lanes and ...
Jerry had us on the run, the news was far from hot,He had his feet in Egypt and the Sphinx ...
The garden rang with musicOf inexpressible despair.A dish of oysters spread on iceSmelled like the ocean, fresh and sharp.He told ...
If one poor burdened toiler o'er life's road,Who meets us by the way,Goes on less conscious of his galling load,Then ...
Here, at a meagre earth, despondentAnd listless stare the dull grey skies,And, as if plunged in leaden slumber,A eary nature ...
A despondent highway is stretched,its eyes set on the far horizonOn the cold dirt of its bosom,its grayish beauty spreadAs ...
1 Only today and just for this minute, when the sunslant finds its true angle, you can see yellow and ...
The story doesn't expressly say, but they appeared to be walking home despondent perhaps, sad certainly, confused or so said ...
Why can't I keep out of harm's way? Am I so preoccupied, simultaneously looking ahead, concurrently looking behind; concerned to ...
either peace or happiness, let it enfold you when i was a young man I felt these things were dumb,unsophisticated. ...
LEAVE me a little while alone, Here at his grave that still is strown With crumbling flower and wreath; The ...
Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita mi ritrovai per una selva oscura ch? la diritta via era smarrita . ...
This English Thames is holier far than Rome, Those harebells like a sudden flush of sea Breaking across the woodland, ...
1 O TAKE my hand, Walt Whitman! Such gliding wonders! such sights and sounds! Such join'd unended links, each hook'd ...
If one poor burdened toiler o'er life's road, Who meets us by the way, Goes on less conscious of his ...
DEAR sir, good-morrow! Five years back, When you first girded for this arduous track, And under various whimsical pretexts Endowed ...
Desine, Paulle, meum lacrimis urgere sepulcrum: nempe tuas lacrimas litora surda bibent. Propertius, IV.11 Don't cry for me, for only ...
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