Art (James B.V. Thomson Poems)
1What precious thing are you making fastIn all these silken lines?And where and to whom will it go at last?Such ...
1What precious thing are you making fastIn all these silken lines?And where and to whom will it go at last?Such ...
NOT since proud Marlowe poured his potent songThrough fadeless meadows to a marvellous main,Has England hearkened to so sweet a ...
Waiting on Him who knows us and our need,Most need have we to dare not, nor desire,But as He giveth, ...
O'er the wood's brow, Pale, the moon stares;In every bough Wandering airsFaintly suspire. . . .O heart's-desire!Two willow-trees Waver and weep,One in the ...
I.LIFT UP thy lips, turn round, look back for love, Blind love that comes by night and casts out ...
THE Hours passed by, a fleet, confused crowd; With wafture of blown garments bright as fire, Light, light of foot ...
When I spread out my hand here today, I catch no more than a ray To feel of between thumb ...
I Midwinter spring is its own season Sempiternal though sodden towards sundown, Suspended in time, between pole and tropic. When ...
LOUD and low in the chimney The squalls suspire; Then like an answer dwindles And glows the fire, And the ...
'Twas on a Mountain, near the Western Main An ALIEN dwelt. A solitary Hut Built on a jutting crag, o'erhung ...
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