Thyrsis, a Monody (Matthew Arnold Poem)
How changed is here each spot man makes or fills! In the two Hinkseys nothing keeps the same; The village ...
How changed is here each spot man makes or fills! In the two Hinkseys nothing keeps the same; The village ...
Light flows our war of mocking words, and yet, Behold, with tears mine eyes are wet! I feel a nameless ...
Weary of myself, and sick of asking What I am, and what I ought to be, At this vessel's prow ...
Coldly, sadly descends The autumn-evening. The field Strewn with its dank yellow drifts Of wither'd leaves, and the elms, Fade ...
Yes! in the sea of life enisled, With echoing straits between us thrown, Dotting the shoreless watery wild, We mortal ...
Through Alpine meadows soft-suffused With rain, where thick the crocus blows, Past the dark forges long disused, The mule-track from ...
And you, ye stars, Who slowly begin to marshal, As of old, in the fields of heaven, Your distant, melancholy ...
Light flows our war of mocking words, and yet, Behold, with tears mine eyes are wet! I feel a nameless ...
'Tis death! and peace, indeed, is here, And ease from shame, and rest from fear. There's nothing can dismarble now ...
A wanderer is man from his birth. He was born in a ship On the breast of the river of ...
A region desolate and wild. Black, chafing water: and afloat, And lonely as a truant child In a waste wood, ...
As the kindling glances, Queen-like and clear, Which the bright moon lances From her tranquil sphere At the sleepless waters ...
And the first grey of morning fill'd the east, And the fog rose out of the Oxus stream. But all ...
Goethe in Weimar sleeps, and Greece, Long since, saw Byron's struggle cease. But one such death remain'd to come; The ...
We were apart; yet, day by day, I bade my heart more constant be. I bade it keep the world ...
Go, for they call you, shepherd, from the hill; Go, shepherd, and untie the wattled cotes! No longer leave thy ...
This is the lair of the landlady She is a raw voice loose in the rooms beneath me. the continuous ...
He was the sort of man who wouldn't hurt a fly. Many flies are now alive while he is not. ...
Cruising these residential Sunday streets in dry August sunlight: what offends us is the sanities: the houses in pedantic rows, ...
The world is full of women who'd tell me I should be ashamed of myself if they had the chance. ...
More and more frequently the edges of me dissolve and I become a wish to assimilate the world, including you, ...
In the burned house I am eating breakfast. You understand: there is no house, there is no breakfast, yet here ...
Your lungs fill & spread themselves, wings of pink blood, and your bones empty themselves and become hollow. When you ...
The rest of us watch from beyond the fence as the woman moves with her jagged stride into her pain ...
I'm thinking about you. What else can I say? The palm trees on the reverse are a delusion; so is ...
This is a word we use to plug holes with. It's the right size for those warm blanks in speech, ...
You're sad because you're sad. It's psychic. It's the age. It's chemical. Go see a shrink or take a pill, ...
The moment when, after many years of hard work and a long voyage you stand in the centre of your ...
I would like to watch you sleeping, which may not happen. I would like to watch you, sleeping. I would ...
My daughter plays on the floor with plastic letters, red, blue & hard yellow, learning how to spell, spelling, how ...
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