The Ballad Of The Drover (Henry Lawson Poem)
Across the stony ridges, Across the rolling plain, Young Harry Dale, the drover, Comes riding home again. And well his ...
Across the stony ridges, Across the rolling plain, Young Harry Dale, the drover, Comes riding home again. And well his ...
Where run your colts at pasture? Where hide your mares to breed? 'Mid bergs about the Ice-cap Or wove Sargasso ...
O SORROW! Why dost borrow The natural hue of health, from vermeil lips?-- To give maiden blushes To the white ...
Muse of my native land! loftiest Muse! O first-born on the mountains! by the hues Of heaven on the spiritual ...
Gliding through the still air, he made no sound; Wing-shod and deft, dropped almost at her feet, And searched the ...
With short, sharp violent lights made vivid, To the southward far as the sight can roam, Only the swirl of ...
THE Lombard princes oft pervade my mind; The present tale Boccace relates you'll find; Agiluf was the noble monarch's name; ...
The perilous yellow sun follows with its slant eyes masts of the shuddered grove steaming up to capsize in the ...
BY QUEVEDO REDIVIVUS SUGGESTED BY THE COMPOSITION SO ENTITLED BY THE AUTHOR OF 'WAT TYLER' 'A Daniel come to judgment! ...
from Senlin: A Biography It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning When the light drips through the shutters ...
The woods decay, the woods decay and fall, The vapours weep their burthen to the ground, Man comes and tills ...
From noiseful arms, and acts of prowess done In tournament or tilt, Sir Percivale, Whom Arthur and his knighthood called ...
A bunch of old snakeheads down by the pond carrying on the swan tradition -- hissing inside their white bodies, ...
The bows glided down, and the coast Blackened with birds took a last look At his thrashing hair and whale-blue ...
Once to the song and chariot-fight, Where all the tribes of Greece unite On Corinth's isthmus joyously, The god-loved Ibycus ...
Releas'd from the noise of the butcher and baker Who, my old friends be thanked, did seldom forsake her, And ...
There is still the wind that I remember firing the manes of horses, racing, slanting, across the plains, the wind ...
Blameless as daylight I stood looking At a field of horses, necks bent, manes blown, Tails streaming against the green ...
It was somewhere up the country, in a land of rock and scrub, That they formed an institution called the ...
I don't remember the word I wished to say. The blind swallow returns to the hall of shadow, on shorn ...
Like the vain curlings of the watery maze, Which in smooth streams a sinking weight does raise, So Man, declining ...
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