Irony (David Herbert Lawrence Poem)
Always, sweetheart, Carry into your room the blossoming boughs of cherry, Almond and apple and pear diffuse with light, that ...
Always, sweetheart, Carry into your room the blossoming boughs of cherry, Almond and apple and pear diffuse with light, that ...
I've pulled the last of the year's young onions. The garden is bare now. The ground is cold, brown and ...
A music-stand of crimson lacquer, long since brought In some fast clipper-ship from China, quaintly wrought With bossed and carven ...
After a Print by George Cruikshank It was a gusty night, With the wind booming, and swooping, Looping round corners, ...
Cross-ribboned shoes; a muslin gown, High-waisted, girdled with bright blue; A straw poke bonnet which hid the frown She pluckered ...
Live, live with me, and thou shalt see The pleasures I'll prepare for thee: What sweets the country can afford ...
A Gyges ring they bear about them still, To be, and not seen when and where they will; They tread ...
My faithful friend, if you can see The fruit to grow up, or the tree; If you can see the ...
wherever there's a tear in the fabric around weymouth - portland appears from abbotsbury hill it's just a long thin ...
In the early evening, a now, as man is bending over his writing table. Slowly he lifts his head; a ...
There is a singer everyone has heard, Loud, a mid-summer and a mid-wood bird, Who makes the solid tree trunks ...
The rose is a rose, And was always a rose. But the theory now goes That the apple's a rose, ...
Because I was content with these poor fields, Low open meads, slender and sluggish streams, And found a home in ...
Mistah Kurtz -- he dead. A penny for the Old Guy I We are the hollow men We are the ...
She was thinner, with a mannered gauntness as she paused just inside the double glass doors to survey the room, ...
Silver dust lifted from the earth, higher than my arms reach, you have mounted. O silver, higher than my arms ...
I have had enough. I gasp for breath. Every way ends, every road, every foot-path leads at last to the ...
To the tune of "Rinsing Silk Stream" My courtyard is small, windows idle, spring is getting old. Screens unrolled cast ...
To the tune "Courtyard Filled with Fragrance" Fragrant grass beside the pond green shade over the hall a clear cold ...
In memory of Father Flye, 1884-1985 The strange and wonderful are too much with us. The protea of the antipodes-a ...
A poet's cat, sedate and grave As poet well could wish to have, Was much addicted to inquire For nooks ...
Baudelaire considers you his brother, and Fielding calls out to you every few paragraphs as if to make sure you ...
Botticelli grinned with egg tempera congealed at the hinge of his lips Velasquez licked shine from an aubergine blackened in ...
White blossoms of the pear and a woman in moonlight reading a letter. (Yosa Buson)
I. So far as our story approaches the end, Which do you pity the most of us three?- My friend, ...
Fanfare of northwest wind, a bluejay wind announces autumn, and the equinox rolls back blue bays to a far afternoon. ...
A heap of wheat, says the Song of Songs but I've never seen wheat in a pile. Apples, potatoes, cabbages, ...
Down home to-night the moonshine falls Across a hill with daisies pied, The pear tree by the garden gate Beckons ...
WE were very tired, we were very merry We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry. It ...
Here in February, the fine dark branches of the almond begin to sprout tiny clusters of leaves, sticky to the ...
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