P (Robert Nichols Poems)
upon seeing a portrait of BlakeSomething moves in his dust,Flame sleeps beneath the crust;O whence had he those eyesLit with ...
upon seeing a portrait of BlakeSomething moves in his dust,Flame sleeps beneath the crust;O whence had he those eyesLit with ...
Breathe on my soul your everlasting calm,Majestic mountains, passionless and cold!Give to my spirit, drooping 'neath the palm,The rugged strength ...
Give me a landscape made of obstacles,of steep hills and jutting glacial rock,where the low-running streams are quick to floodthe ...
For un-feathering the glacial archangels,the barbed-lily snowfall of slender teethis condemned to the weeping of fountainsand the sadness of well-springs.For ...
INot yet had History's Aetna smoked the skies,And low the Gallic Giantess lay enchained,While overhead in ordered set and riseHer ...
No, no, my friend; there is an agony Not to be exorcised out of the world By any ...
This is the land!It lies outstretched a vision of delight,Bent like a shield between the silver seasIt flashes back the ...
I saw him stand, a Polar man, Cold anger in his frigid eye,Facing it wild, unruly clan Who poised their ...
Is it because for a million years The tide has entered here From cold north ...
Comes not the springtime here, Though the snowdrop came,And the time of the cowslip is near, For a ...
"SILENT amidst unbroken silence deep Of dateless years, in loneliness supreme, She pondered patiently one mighty theme, And let the ...
Sweet watcher by the wounded; undefiledPitier, in whom earth's fallen might beholdThe crystal's purity without its cold;Pale, passionate weeper o'er ...
1 On my way home from school up tribal Providence Hill past the Academy ballpark where I could never hope ...
Through an accidental crack in the curtain I can see the eight o'clock light change from charcoal to a faint ...
Crashing waves on a rocky coast, rain falling on parched ground The cry of a newborn baby, the call of ...
Glacial faces before the calving the granite ledges, bedrock framing the highway, interstate plates and layers, uplifted imperceptibly crumbling over ...
Wash of cold river in a glacial land, Ionian water, chill, snow-ribbed sand, drift of rare flowers, clear, with delicate ...
O all the little rivers that run to Hudson's Bay, They call me and call me to follow them away. ...
A story, a story! (Let it go. Let it come.) I was stamped out like a Plymouth fender into this ...
I I dream of journeys repeatedly: Of flying like a bat deep into a narrowing tunnel Of driving alone, without ...
Though not for common praise of him, Nor yet for pride or charity, Still would I make to Vanderberg One ...
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