The Voiceless (Oliver Wendell Holmes Poem)
WE count the broken lyres that rest Where the sweet wailing singers slumber, But o'er their silent sister's breast The ...
WE count the broken lyres that rest Where the sweet wailing singers slumber, But o'er their silent sister's breast The ...
Who, then, was Cestius, And what is he to me? - Amid thick thoughts and memories multitudinous One thought alone ...
Oh what humble singers joyfully with the others all of creation proclaiming singing to our God Raising our voices, united ...
It snowed in spring on earth so dry and warm The flakes could find no landing place to form. Hordes ...
Christmass is come and every hearth Makes room to give him welcome now Een want will dry its tears in ...
up or down from the infinite C E N T E R B R I M M I N G ...
Rose-maiden, no, I do not quarrel With these dear chains, they don't demean. The nightingale embushed in laurel, The sylvan ...
Mother of man's time-travelling generations, Breath of his nostrils, heartblood of his heart, God above all Gods worshipped of all ...
I like to think that when I fall, A rain-drop in Death's shoreless sea, This shelf of books along the ...
An angel was tired of heaven, as he lounged in the golden street; His halo was tilted sideways, and his ...
He staggered in from night and frost and fog And lampless streets: he'd guzzled like a hog And drunk till ...
What puts me in a rage is The sight of cursed cages Where singers of the sky Perch hop instead ...
SMOKE of the fields in spring is one, Smoke of the leaves in autumn another. Smoke of a steel-mill roof ...
WRITE your wishes on the door and come in. Stand outside in the pools of the harvest moon. Bring in ...
FIRST I would like to write for you a poem to be shouted in the teeth of a strong wind. ...
IN the night, when the sea-winds take the city in their arms, And cool the loud streets that kept their ...
Authors and actors and artists and such Never know nothing, and never know much. Sculptors and singers and those of ...
These tales of old disguisings, are they not Strange myths of souls that found themselves among Unwonted folk that spake ...
Some singers sing of ladies' eyes, And some of ladies lips, Refined ones praise their ladylike ways, And course ones ...
Do you remember, O Delphic Apollo, The sunset hour by the river, when Mickey M'Grew Cried, "There's a ghost," and ...
Of Heaven or Hell I have no power to sing, I cannot ease the burden of your fears, Or make ...
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