THE EVENING STAR (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Poem)
Lo! in the painted oriel of the West, Whose panes the sunken sun incarnadines, Like a fair lady at her ...
Lo! in the painted oriel of the West, Whose panes the sunken sun incarnadines, Like a fair lady at her ...
(From the French of Emile Verhaeren) He who walks through the meadows of Champagne At noon in Fall, when leaves ...
Whenever I walk to Suffern along the Erie track I go by a poor old farmhouse with its shingles broken ...
St. Agnes' Eve--Ah, bitter chill it was! The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold; The hare limp'd trembling through ...
I have been reading Pomfret's "Choice" this spring, A pretty kind of--sort of--kind of thing, Not much a verse, and ...
In Memory of one of the Writer's Family who was a Volunteer during the War with Napoleon In a ferny ...
The day is turning ghost, And scuttles from the kalendar in fits and furtively, To join the anonymous host Of ...
(1) and off to scott's (the dockers' restaurant) burly men packed in round solid tables but what the helle (drowned ...
As night fell, heavy so did the snow, light dancing, twirling, shimmering, flickering, the street lights, the light from our ...
I feel the cold closing in, seeping, oozing slowly coming in through the walls, the floor, the panes of tempered ...
Staring at the glass the panes in the frame bubbles and waves thinning viscous skin of irregular glass beautiful in ...
She sat beside me in the chapel this morning as her momma began to preach we were in the back, ...
Metamorphosis, like a snake casting off an old skin, a crab an outgrown shell, or maybe more akin to a ...
Family memories scraps and treasures preserved on shelves behind panes of glass frozen there on the wall most without note, ...
It is 7 am And the world awakes. There's dew in the morning. Every tip of the serrated Wild strawberry ...
Dew in the morning Burst my slumber, stupor, coma Caught me from numbness, Unseeing eyes Dulled senses Forced sight, perception ...
By neer resemblance see that Bird betray'd Who takes the well wrought Arras for a shade There hopes to pearch ...
Dear to my heart are the ancestral dwellings of America, Dearer than if they were haunted by ghosts of royal ...
Light is sufficient to itself -- If Others want to see It can be had on Window Panes Some Hours ...
There is heard a hymn when the panes are dim, And never before or again, When the nights are strong ...
Christmass is come and every hearth Makes room to give him welcome now Een want will dry its tears in ...
The last pose flickered, failed. The screen's dead white Glared in a sudden flooding of harsh light Stabbing the eyes; ...
(Translated from the French by Edouard Rodti) My wife with the hair of a wood fire With the thoughts of ...
And where, friend Quo, lay you hiding across malignant half my years or so? One evil faery it was workt ...
In the red-roofed stucco house of my childhood, the dining room was screened off by folding doors with small glass ...
No, I shall not say why it is that I love you- Why do you ask me, save for vanity? ...
As Parmigianino did it, the right hand Bigger than the head, thrust at the viewer And swerving easily away, as ...
Come, dear children, let us away; Down and away below! Now my brothers call from the bay, Now the great ...
No. It can't be. No! You too, beloved? Why? What for? Darling, look - I came, I brought flowers, but, ...
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, Till on the haunting flares ...
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