The Book of Hours of Sister Clotilde (Amy Lowell Poem)
The Bell in the convent tower swung. High overhead the great sun hung, A navel for the curving sky. The ...
The Bell in the convent tower swung. High overhead the great sun hung, A navel for the curving sky. The ...
How empty seems the town now you are gone! A wilderness of sad streets, where gaunt walls Hide nothing to ...
I Over the yawning chimney hangs the fog. Drip -- hiss -- drip -- hiss -- fall the raindrops on ...
Part First Frau Concert-Meister Altgelt shut the door. A storm was rising, heavy gusts of wind Swirled through the trees, ...
The Fool Errant sat by the highway of life And his gaze wandered up and his gaze wandered down, A ...
Glinting golden through the trees, Apples of Hesperides! Through the moon-pierced warp of night Shoot pale shafts of yellow light, ...
A drifting, April, twilight sky, A wind which blew the puddles dry, And slapped the river into waves That ran ...
A face seen passing in a crowded street, A voice heard singing music, large and free; And from that moment ...
Before me lies a mass of shapeless days, Unseparated atoms, and I must Sort them apart and live them. Sifted ...
At first a mere thread of a footpath half blotted out by the grasses Sweeping triumphant across it, it wound ...
I know a country laced with roads, They join the hills and they span the brooks, They weave like a ...
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