Crepuscule du Matin (Amy Lowell Poem)
All night I wrestled with a memory Which knocked insurgent at the gates of thought. The crumbled wreck of years ...
All night I wrestled with a memory Which knocked insurgent at the gates of thought. The crumbled wreck of years ...
You shall hear how Pau-Puk-Keewis, He, the handsome Yenadizze, Whom the people called the Storm-Fool, Vexed the village with disturbance; ...
O Sovereign power of love! O grief! O balm! All records, saving thine, come cool, and calm, And shadowy, through ...
1 Let observation with extensive view, 2 Survey mankind, from China to Peru; 3 Remark each anxious toil, each eager ...
The hushed dark hugs the streets. Somewhere a cat snaps the silence. Dogs begin to bark, like a pack moving ...
What is unwisdom but the lusting after Longevity: to be old and full of days! For the vast and unremitting ...
To the still Covert of a Wood About the prime of Day, A Lyon, satiated with Food, With stately Pace, ...
I met a lady from the South who said (You won't believe she said it, but she said it): "None ...
THIS last denial of my faith, Thou, solemn Priest, hast heard; And, though upon my bed of death, I call ...
I. Oh, what a dawn of day! How the March sun feels like May! All is blue again After last ...
LEAVE me a little while alone, Here at his grave that still is strown With crumbling flower and wreath; The ...
YE Irish lords, ye knights an' squires, Wha represent our brughs an' shires, An' doucely manage our affairs In parliament, ...
Glad as the weary traveller tempest-tost To reach secure at length his native coast, Who wandering long o'er distant lands ...
Remember midsummer: the fragrance of box, of white roses And of phlox. And upon a honeysuckle branch Three snails hanging ...
There's a four-pronged buck a-swinging in the shadow of my cabin, And it roamed the velvet valley till to-day; But ...
In gold and grey, with fleering looks of sin, I watch them come; by two, by three, by four, Advancing ...
HAIL! Childish slaves of social rules You had yourselves a hand in making! How I could shake your faith, ye ...
SWEET BIRD OF SORROW! why complain In such soft melody of Song, That ECHO, am'rous of thy Strain, The ling'ring ...
Wild is the foaming Sea! The surges roar! And nimbly dart the livid lightnings round! On the rent rock the ...
Ye have sung me your songs, ye have chanted your rimes (I scorn your beguiling, O sea!) Ye fondle me ...
[The late Mr. Jonathan Swift Somers, laureate of Spoon River, planned The Spooniad as an epic in twenty-four books, but ...
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