An ODE. (Anne Killigrew Poem)
ARise my Dove, from mid'st of Pots arise, Thy sully'd Habitation leave, To Dust no longer cleave, Unworthy they of ...
ARise my Dove, from mid'st of Pots arise, Thy sully'd Habitation leave, To Dust no longer cleave, Unworthy they of ...
When I am tired of earnest men, Intense and keen and sharp and clever, Pursuing fame with brush or pen ...
There dwells a wife by the Northern Gate, And a wealthy wife is she; She breeds a breed o' rovin' ...
For every bird there is this last migration; Once more the cooling year kindles her heart; With a warm passage ...
The ocean heaves around us still With long and measured swell, The autumn gales our canvas fill, Our ship rides ...
IN Collins Street standeth a statute tall, A statue tall, on a pillar of stone, Telling its story, to great ...
Then said a rich man, "Speak to us of Giving." And he answered: You give but little when you give ...
Some Arrows slay but whom they strike -- But this slew all but him -- Who so appareled his Escape ...
In these quiet moments before the night softens the mountains of the South and deflates the clouds that float beneath ...
I The rutted roads are all like iron; skies Are keen and brilliant; only the oak-leaves cling In the bare ...
THIS last denial of my faith, Thou, solemn Priest, hast heard; And, though upon my bed of death, I call ...
I've quenched my lamp, I struck it in that start Which every limb convulsed, I heard it fall The crash ...
To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, Where things that ...
Here was a place where none would ever come For shelter, save as we did from the rain. We saw ...
THOU art no more my bosom's FRIEND; Here must the sweet delusion end, That charm'd my senses many a year, ...
Oft have I seen yon Solitary Man Pacing the upland meadow. On his brow Sits melancholy, mark'd with decent pride, ...
Trumpets of the Lancer Corps Sound a loud reveille; Sound it over Sydney shore, Send the message far and wide ...
This is the place where they all were bred; Some of the rafters are standing still; Now they are scattered ...
They came of bold and roving stock that would not fixed abide; There were the sons of field and flock ...
Friends of humanity, of high and low degree, I pray ye all come listen to me; And truly I will ...
I lash and writhe against my prison bars, And watch with sullen eyes the gaping crowd . . Give me ...
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