St. Laurence, Undercliff (Bessie Rayner Parkes Poems)
ST. LAURENCE is a church beside the sea, Kissed by the southern wind perpetually. Those who may care to make ...
ST. LAURENCE is a church beside the sea, Kissed by the southern wind perpetually. Those who may care to make ...
The piercing cries of chasers penetrateThe dark forest down to the mountain skirts;And the hunted deerTrickles his warm blood upon ...
I think I will learn some beautiful language, useless for commercialPurposes, work hard at that.I think I will learn the ...
One said: "I have seen, from cliffs of doom,The seven hells flame up in flowerLike a million upas trees that ...
Gently I stir a white feather fan,With open shirt sitting in a green wood.I take off my cap and hang ...
Across the stony ridges, Across the rolling plain, Young Harry Dale, the drover, Comes riding home again. And well his ...
About suffering, about adoration, the old masters Disagree. When someone suffers, no one else eats Or walks or opens the ...
LEOPOLD, DUKE OF BRUNSWICK. THOU wert forcibly seized ...
His life changed, over time like water shaping stone, carving the rock with the force of a torrent, the crash ...
Boots crunching in the soft snow deep tracks even for young companions temperature above freezing Walking into the woods, days ...
As bamboo chill drifts into the bedroom, Moonlight fills every corner of our Garden. Heavy dew beads and trickles. Stars ...
Come queen of months in company Wi all thy merry minstrelsy The restless cuckoo absent long And twittering swallows chimney ...
I. June was not over Though past the fall, And the best of her roses Had yet to blow, When ...
I am like, They tell me, my dear father. Broader brows Howbeit, upon a slenderer undergrowth Of delicate ...
RUNNING along a bank, a parapet That saves from the precipitous wood below The level road, there is a path. ...
Hot gold runs a winding stream on the inside of a green bowl. Yellow trickles in a fan figure, scatters ...
Gently I stir a white feather fan, With open shirt sitting in a green wood. I take off my cap ...
In the dour ages Of drafty cells and draftier castles, Of dragons breathing without the frame of fables, Saint and ...
Through thick Arcadian woods a hunter went, Following the beasts upon a fresh spring day; But since his horn-tipped bow ...
Edna St. Vincent Millay - Intention To Escape From Him I think I will learn some beautiful language, useless for ...
Chapter I. Once on a time, a Dawn, all red and bright Leapt on the conquered ramparts of the Night, ...
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