Fragment: Modern Love (John Keats Poems)
And what is love? It is a doll dress'd upFor idleness to cosset, nurse, and dandle;A thing of soft misnomers, ...
And what is love? It is a doll dress'd upFor idleness to cosset, nurse, and dandle;A thing of soft misnomers, ...
A ROYAL rose! A rose how darkly red!A proud, voluptuous, full blown flower, that swaysHer sceptre o'er the wind-swept garden-ways,With ...
Thin-legged, thin-chested, slight unspeakably,Neat-footed and weak-fingered: in his face -Lean, large-boned, curved of beak, and touched with race,Bold-lipped, rich-tinted, mutable ...
Bring me my robes and crown!I must make a brave end,Charmian, fitting the renownOf Antony's friend.Caesar shall find me so,'Tired ...
When you deliberate the pageOf Alexander's pilgrimage,Or say - 'It is three years, or ten,Since Easter slew Connolly's men,'Or prudently ...
Thy foes had girt thee with their dead array,O stately Alexandra! — yet the soundOf mirth and music, at the ...
LIKE star points in the ether to guide a homing SoulTowards God's Eternal Haven; above the wash and roll,Across and ...
mehitabel the cat claims thatshe has a human soulalso and has transmigratedfrom body to body and itmay be so boss ...
THE CYNDUS1Beneath th' triumphal blue, th' riotous day, Her silvern galley beats the black flood white, Whilst the long sillage ...
Our drift-wood fire burns drowsily, The fog hangs low afar,A thousand sea-birds fearlessly Hover ...
By myself walking,To myself talking,When as I ruminateOn my untoward fate,Scarcely seem IAlone sufficiently,Black thoughts continuallyCrowding my privacy;They come unbidden,Like ...
THE head and hands of murdered Cicero,Above his seat high in the Forum hung,Drew jeers and burning tears. When on ...
Of all the opry-houses then obtaining in the West The one which Milton Tootle owned was, by all odds, the ...
The Waste Land by T. S. Eliot "Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis vidi in ampulla pendere, et ...
There is a shattered palm on this fierce shore, its plumes the rusting helm- et of a dead warrior. Numb ...
(To Marcel Schwob in friendship and in admiration) In a dim corner of my room for longer than my fancy ...
The whole process is a lie, unless, crowned by excess, It break forcefully, one way or another, from its confinement- ...
HER mouth is fragrant as a vine, A vine with birds in all its boughs; Serpent and scarab for a ...
Beyond the Rocking Bridge it lies, the burg of evil fame, The huts where hive and swarm and thrive the ...
Take the name of the swain, a forlorn witless elf Who was chang'd to a flow'r for admiring himself. A ...
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