The Warden of the Cinque Ports (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Poem)
A mist was driving down the British Channel, The day was just begun, And through the window-panes, on floor and ...
A mist was driving down the British Channel, The day was just begun, And through the window-panes, on floor and ...
Beside the ungathered rice he lay, His sickle in his hand; His breast was bare, his matted hair Was buried ...
For I can snore like a bullhorn or play loud music or sit up talking with any reasonably sober Irishman ...
Muse of my native land! loftiest Muse! O first-born on the mountains! by the hues Of heaven on the spiritual ...
Freezing dusk is closing Like a slow trap of steel On trees and roads and hills and all That can ...
With short, sharp violent lights made vivid, To the southward far as the sight can roam, Only the swirl of ...
In the silence of the night Death descended from God toward the earth. He hovered above a city and pierced ...
Swing high and swing low While the breezes they blow - It's off for a sailor thy father would go; ...
The mountain brook sung lonesomelike, and loitered on its way Ez if it waited for a child to jine it ...
Sleep! Cast thy canopy Over this sleeper's brain, Dim grow his memory, When he wake again. Love stays a summer ...
LO here a little volume, but great Book A nest of new-born sweets; Whose native fires disdaining To ly thus ...
Black trees against an orange sky, Trees that the wind shook terribly, Like a harsh spume along the road, Quavering ...
He sleeps on the top of a mast. - Bunyan He sleeps on the top of a mast with his ...
The moon in the bureau mirror looks out a million miles (and perhaps with pride, at herself, but she never, ...
Midnight; bells toll, and along the cloud-high towers The golden lights go out . . . The yellow windows darken, ...
The white fog creeps from the cold sea over the city, Over the pale grey tumbled towers,- And settles among ...
God has pity on kindergarten children, He pities school children -- less. But adults he pities not at all. He ...
1 Faster, faster, 2 O Circe, Goddess, 3 Let the wild, thronging train 4 The bright procession 5 Of eddying ...
The Youth Faster, faster, O Circe, Goddess, Let the wild, thronging train The bright procession Of eddying forms, Sweep through ...
There's nothing here sublime, But just a roving rhyme, Run off to pass the time, With nought titanic in. The ...
There's never a stone at the sleeper's head, There's never a fence beside, And the wandering stock on the grave ...
Has sorrow thy young days shaded, As clouds o'er the morning fleet? Too fast have those young days faded That, ...
No, not more welcome the fairy numbers Of music fall on the sleeper's ear, When half awaking from fearful slumbers, ...
A Streaming Golden Light Enters In and Under the Windowsill A Restless Sleeper Is Awakened to New Beginnings To Catch ...
Frowning, the owl in the oak complained him Sore, that the song of the robin restrained him Wrongly of slumber, ...
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