The Return of Persephone (Alec Derwent Hope Poem)
Gliding through the still air, he made no sound; Wing-shod and deft, dropped almost at her feet, And searched the ...
Gliding through the still air, he made no sound; Wing-shod and deft, dropped almost at her feet, And searched the ...
Year after year the princess lies asleep Until the hundred years foretold are done, Easily drawing her enchanted breath. Caught ...
When, darkly brooding on this Modern Age, The journalist with his marketable woes Fills up once more the inevitable page ...
He that is filthy let him be filthy still. Rev. 22.11 Like John on Patmos, brooding on the Four Last ...
Now the heart sings with all its thousand voices To hear this city of cells, my body, sing. The tree ...
He that is filthy let him be filthy still. Rev. 22.11 Like John on Patmos, brooding on the Four Last ...
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