The Warden of the Cinque Ports (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Poem)
A mist was driving down the British Channel, The day was just begun, And through the window-panes, on floor and ...
A mist was driving down the British Channel, The day was just begun, And through the window-panes, on floor and ...
The night is come, but not too soon; And sinking silently, All silently, the little moon Drops down behind the ...
More than a hundred years ago, in a great battle fought near Delhi, an Indian Prince rode fifty miles after ...
I was Lord of Cities very sumptuously builded. Seven roaring Cities paid me tribute from far. Ivory their outposts were--the ...
Fresh morning gusts have blown away all fear From my glad bosom,-now from gloominess I mount for ever-not an atom ...
Runs falls rises stumbles on from darkness into darkness and the darkness thicketed with shapes of terror and the hunters ...
I have put on my great coat it is cold. It is an outer garment. Coarse, woolen. Of unknown origin. ...
Stand fast, Great Britain! Together England, Scotland, Ireland stand One in the faith that makes a mighty land, True to ...
I hold her letter as I stand, Nor break the seal; no need to guess What dainty little female hand ...
For Robert Lowell This is the time of year when almost every night the frail, illegal fire balloons appear. Climbing ...
As Parmigianino did it, the right hand Bigger than the head, thrust at the viewer And swerving easily away, as ...
And the first grey of morning fill'd the east, And the fog rose out of the Oxus stream. But all ...
Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers, Ere the sorrow comes with years? They are leaning their young ...
Pellam the King, who held and lost with Lot In that first war, and had his realm restored But rendered ...
1. I am thirty this November. You are still small, in your fourth year. We stand watching the yellow leaves ...
The pool glitters, the fishes leap in the sun With joyous fins, and dive in the pool again; I see ...
Am I not he that hath made thee and begotten thee, I, God, the spirit of man? Wherefore now these ...
Good-by to you whom I shall see tomorrow, Next year and when I'm fifty; still good-by. This is the leave ...
The horizons ring me like faggots, Tilted and disparate, and always unstable. Touched by a match, they might warm me, ...
If haply thou, O Desdemona Morn, Shouldst call along the curving sphere, "Remain, Dear Night, sweet Moor; nay, leave me ...
Joust First. I. Bright shone the lists, blue bent the skies, And the knights still hurried amain To the tournament ...
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