The Last Rhyme of True Thomas (Rudyard Kipling Poem)
The King has called for priest and cup, The King has taken spur and blade To dub True Thomas a ...
The King has called for priest and cup, The King has taken spur and blade To dub True Thomas a ...
Unto one who lies at rest 'Neath the sunset, in the West, Clover-blossoms on her breast. Lover of each gracious ...
Out of the woods by the creek cometh a calling for Peter, And from the orchard a voice echoes and ...
THE key, which opes the chest of hoarded gold. Unlocks the heart that favours would withhold. To this the god ...
We like March. His Shoes are Purple -- He is new and high -- Makes he Mud for Dog and ...
I The cloud my bed is tinged with blood and foam. The vault yet blazes with the sun Writhing above ...
I The cloud my bed is tinged with blood and foam. The vault yet blazes with the sun Writhing above ...
I. You're my friend: I was the man the Duke spoke to; I helped the Duchess to cast off his ...
Warning to magistrates. Judges, who rule the world by laws, Will ye despise the righteous cause, When th' injured poor ...
(In memoriam C. T. W. Sometime trooper of the Royal Horse Guards obiit H.M. prison, Reading, Berkshire July 7, 1896) ...
(To Marcel Schwob in friendship and in admiration) In a dim corner of my room for longer than my fancy ...
Let Elizur rejoice with the Partridge, who is a prisoner of state and is proud of his keepers. Let Shedeur ...
Rejoice in God, O ye Tongues; give the glory to the Lord, and the Lamb. Nations, and languages, and every ...
Is it so, that the sword is broken, Our sword, that was halfway drawn? Is it so, that the light ...
Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest, From his moist cabinet mounts up on high, And wakes the morning, ...
Your love and pity doth th' impression fill Which vulgar scandal stamped upon my brow; For what care I who ...
Your love and pity doth the impression fill Which vulgar scandal stamp'd upon my brow; For what care I who ...
Down along the Snakebite River, where the overlanders camp, Where the serpents are in millions, all of the most deadly ...
It was not meant for human eyes, That combat on the shabby patch Of clods and trampled turf that lies ...
No more of talk where God or Angel guest With Man, as with his friend, familiar us'd, To sit indulgent, ...
What should I be but a prophet and a liar, Whose mother was a leprechaun, whose father was a friar? ...
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