A Few Remarks on Goats, Asses and the Dead Hand (C J Dennis Poems)
I don't mind kings and dukes and things; I don't mind wigs or maces;I don't mind crowns or robes or ...
I don't mind kings and dukes and things; I don't mind wigs or maces;I don't mind crowns or robes or ...
'Twas up at the tree near the heid o' the glenI keppit a tinkler chiel,The cauld wind whistled his auld ...
This is the lot of the English; — in many a page it is written, — To weep for ...
The gipsy wife came to my door with pegs and brooms to sellThey make by many a roadside fire and ...
Over the hills of heather Wakens the windy morn,In the island of Inisfalen Where my fathers were bred and born.Round ...
St. George for merry England! Fair 'fall the cross of red,Beneath whose folds, unyielding In fight our forebears bled.The four ...
Our joy must be kindled the ancient hope revealed the fulfillment in our savior all of mankind healed Fanning the ...
I feel humbled, by the power of the moment the days we are in the midst of, something electric, life ...
By the blood of the lamb, red, living blood, washed clean, our lives transformed, lives of the saints before, our ...
Prayers for all the saints names unspoken for them candles burning, on the altar, lights burning within our hearts, our ...
After the Sabbath, the rest commands to honor our elders our forebears before us to honor father, mother, reaping a ...
As he has in the past God walking by our side so we hope for our future Safe in that ...
Watching her eyes, in worship as she preached from her heart, not merely from the words she crafted oh so ...
In my line, my blood, there pulses, course through my veins the blood of those hardy souls, the first Pilgrims, ...
Looking for epiphany moments rebirth, born again, anew in an instant of God's providence may be a wondrous, joyous pristine ...
There is something rare something grand something right about the graves of New Orleans not hidden flat stones carved names ...
Even from afar came shouts of recognition joyful voices rang across the years disdained and faces of our childhood unforgot ...
Don't talk to me of War or stalk the ground our fabled soldiers died upon, I'm sound of limb and ...
Oh destiny of Borges to have sailed across the diverse seas of the world or across that single and solitary ...
O trees of life, oh, what when winter comes? We are not of one mind. Are not like birds in ...
Bix to Buxtehude to Boulez, The little white dog on the Victor label Listens long and hard as he is ...
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