The Empty Purse–A Sermon To Our Later Prodigal Son (George Meredith Poems)
Thou, run to the dry on this wayside bank,Too plainly of all the propellers bereft!Quenched youth, and is that thy ...
Thou, run to the dry on this wayside bank,Too plainly of all the propellers bereft!Quenched youth, and is that thy ...
ISee the sweet women, friend, that lean beneathThe ever-falling fountain of green leavesRound the white bending stem, and like a ...
Between the green bud and the redYouth sat and sang by Time, and shed From eyes and tresses flowers ...
1Wet heat drifts through the afternoonlike a campus dog, a fraternity ghostwaiting to stay home from football games.The arches are ...
Jeremiah Dickson was a true-blue American, For he was a little boy who understood America, for he felt that he ...
There is a place that some men know,I cannot see the whole of itNor how I came there. Long agoFlame ...
The problem was the manner of choice (or whether there was a choice for that matter) as you had taken ...
Here at the spoke-ends of our galaxy it is easy to forget the central axle moving insensibly slow, still the ...
Between the green bud and the red Youth sat and sang by Time, and shed From eyes and tresses flowers ...
The doctor fingers my bruise. "Magnificent," he says, "black at the edges and purple cored." Seated, he spies for clues, ...
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