A Tale of Starvation (Amy Lowell Poem)
There once was a man whom the gods didn't love, And a disagreeable man was he. He loathed his neighbours, ...
There once was a man whom the gods didn't love, And a disagreeable man was he. He loathed his neighbours, ...
Come, leave the loathed stage, And the more loathsome age; Where pride and impudence, in faction knit, Usurp the chair ...
Be not proud, but now incline Your soft ear to discipline; You have changes in your life, Sometimes peace, and ...
they say in the local sanctuary owls are the stupidest creatures all this wisdom business is the mythological media at ...
Away down East where I was reared amongst my Yankee kith, There used to live a pretty girl whose name ...
When Father Time swings round his scythe, Entomb me 'neath the bounteous vine, So that its juices, red and blithe, ...
A Fragment of a Turkish Tale The tale which these disjointed fragments present, is founded upon circumstances now less common ...
I My hair is gray, but not with years, Nor grew it white In a single night, As men's have ...
LARA. CANTO THE FIRST. I. The Serfs are glad through Lara's wide domain, And slavery half forgets her ...
God strengthen me to bear myself; That heaviest weight of all to bear, Inalienable weight of care. All others are ...
MORNING and evening Maids heard the goblins cry: "Come buy our orchard fruits, Come buy, come buy: Apples and quinces, ...
Am I failing ? For no longer can I cast A glory round about this head of gold. Glory she ...
I I have loved England, dearly and deeply, Since that first morning, shining and pure, The white cliffs of Dover ...
Out of the lights and roar of cities, Drifting down like a spark in Spoon River, Burnt out with the ...
As one who in his journey bates at noon, Though bent on speed; so here the Arch-Angel paused Betwixt the ...
[The late Mr. Jonathan Swift Somers, laureate of Spoon River, planned The Spooniad as an epic in twenty-four books, but ...
I loathed you, Spoon River. I tried to rise above you, I was ashamed of you. I despised you As ...
Not character, not fortitude, not patience Were mine, the which the village thought I had In bearing with my wife, ...
Nay, nay, sweet England, do not grieve! Not one of these poor men who died But did within his soul ...
Hence, loathed Melancholy, ............Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born In Stygian cave forlorn ............'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights ...
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