The China Sea (Cicely Fox Smith Poems)
Did you see the poor old hooker, by the ocean wharf she lay?Her decks are foul with harbour grime, she ...
Did you see the poor old hooker, by the ocean wharf she lay?Her decks are foul with harbour grime, she ...
At gauzy dusk, thin haze like cigarette smoke ribbons past Chrysler Building's silver fins tapering delicately needletopped, Empire State's taller ...
Giovanni Malatesta, the lame old man, Walking one night, as he was used, being old, Upon the grey seashore at ...
O the calling of the waves on the pebbled beach below, And the seagull sweeping o'er the waters grey!O ...
The frost is on the pane and the rime's on the ground And pitch-dark the morn,And a bitter wind ...
Dear, O homeland, and dear, O sweet land of mine, Dear, yea, very dear, O land of my birth;But ...
Have you heard the seagull calling, the seagull out at sea? And sorry is its voice, though its wings ...
* * * * *Fitz Eustace. -"The seagull flutters to her nestThe fishermen are gone to rest,A sheltering roof will ...
THE sunset gun booms out in hollow roar Night breathes upon the waters of the bay The river lies, a ...
'Tis a dainty shell, 'tis a fragile shell At my feet that the wild waves threw,And I send it thee, ...
(The Dry Salvages-presumably les trois sauvages-is a small group of rocks, with a beacon, off the N.E. coast of Cape ...
A frightening stillness will mark that day And the shadow of streetlights and fire-alarms will exhaust the light All things, ...
How many dawns, chill from his rippling rest The seagull's wings shall dip and pivot him, Shedding white rings of ...
I'd watched the sorrow of the evening sky, And smelt the sea, and earth, and the warm clover, And heard ...
SEA, SEA RIDER The man who owned the bookstore was not magic. He was not a three-legged crow on the ...
Now, man of croziers, shadows called our names And then away, away, like whirling flames; And now fled by, mist-covered, ...
One day people will touch and talk perhaps easily, And loving be natural as breathing and warm as sunlight, And ...
It was my thirtieth year to heaven Woke to my hearing from harbour and neighbour wood And the mussel pooled ...
Touch it: it won't shrink like an eyeball, This egg-shaped bailiwick, clear as a tear. Here's yesterday, last year --- ...
ONE road leads to London, One road leads to Wales, My road leads me seawards To the white dipping sails. ...
ALL day they loitered by the resting ships, Telling their beauties over, taking stock; At night the verdict left my ...
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