Miscast I (Amy Lowell Poem)
I have whetted my brain until it is like a Damascus blade, So keen that it nicks off the floating ...
I have whetted my brain until it is like a Damascus blade, So keen that it nicks off the floating ...
January Janus am I; oldest of potentates; Forward I look, and backward, and below I count, as god of avenues ...
There is a Reaper, whose name is Death, And, with his sickle keen, He reaps the bearded grain at a ...
Beside the ungathered rice he lay, His sickle in his hand; His breast was bare, his matted hair Was buried ...
All summer I heard them rustling in the shrubbery, outracing me from tier to tier in my garden, a whisper ...
Muse of my native land! loftiest Muse! O first-born on the mountains! by the hues Of heaven on the spiritual ...
In this evil year, autumn comes early... I walk by night in the field, alone, the rain clatters, The wind ...
To the Right Honourable Mildmay, Earl of Westmoreland Come, sons of summer, by whose toil We are the lords of ...
We severed in Autumn early, Ere the earth was torn by the plough; The wheat and the oats and the ...
OH, would I resembled The country girls fair, Who rosy-red ribbons And yellow hats wear! To believe I was pretty ...
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods ...
And the trees about me, Let them be dry and leafless; let the rocks Groan with continual surges; and behind ...
I Thou who hast made thy dwelling fair With flowers beneath, above with starry lights, And set thine altars everywhere,-- ...
IF the quick spirits in your eye Now languish and anon must die; If every sweet and every grace Must ...
Now as Heaven is my Lot, they're the Pests of the Nation! Wherever they can come With clankum and blankum ...
Lough, vessel, plough the British main, Seek the free ocean's wider plain; Leave English scenes and English skies, Unbind, dissever ...
The old man cutting barley-- bent like a sickle. (Yosa Buson)
"Oh yes, I went over to Edmonstoun the other day and saw Johnny, mooning around as usual! He will never ...
I hear the oriole's always-grieving voice, And the rich summer's welcome loss I hear In the sickle's serpentine hiss Cutting ...
How changed is here each spot man makes or fills! In the two Hinkseys nothing keeps the same; The village ...
Thee the ancientest peer, Duke of Burgundy, rose from the monarch's right hand, red as wines From his mountains; an ...
84 Thee the ancientest peer, Duke of Burgundy, rose from the monarch's right hand, red as wines 85 From his ...
I knew a woman, lovely in her bones, When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them; Ah, when ...
Men say the world is full of fear and hate, And all life's ripening harvest-fields await The restless sickle of ...
Under yonder beech-tree single on the green-sward, Couched with her arms behind her golden head, Knees and tresses folded to ...
Hot August noon: already on that day Since sunrise through the Wiltshire downs, most sad Of mouth and eye, he ...
O thou that swing'st upon the waving ear Of some well-filled oaten beard, Drunk ev'ry night with a delicious tear ...
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