Her Portrait (Francis Thompson Poems)
Oh, but the heavenly grammar did I holdOf that high speech which angels' tongues turn gold!So should her deathless beauty ...
Oh, but the heavenly grammar did I holdOf that high speech which angels' tongues turn gold!So should her deathless beauty ...
Once more among our archangelic hillsThe streets of this old, grave, and gracious townThrob with renewing vigor as when SpringRushes ...
1.LORD, I do choose the higher than my will.I would be handled by thy nursing armsAfter thy will, not my ...
Aloft upon an old basaltic crag,Which, scalped by keen winds that defend the Pole,Gazes with dead face on the seas ...
I know not why I love your baffling face,Or, lonely, to your cold caresses steal,Or what the charm persuades my ...
My books are on their shelves againAnd clouds lie low with mist and rain.Afar the Arno murmurs lowThe tale of ...
A wondrous light is filling the air,And rimming the clouds of the old despair;And hopeful eyes look up to seeTruth's ...
Jeanne-Marie has strong hands; dark hands tanned by the summer, pale hands like dead hands. Are they the hands of ...
So when the verdure of his life was shed, With all the grace of ripened manlihead, And on his locks, ...
BEHOLD, I walked abroad at early morning,The fields of June were bathed in dew and lustre,The hills were clad with ...
The hills are white, but not with snow:They are as pale in summer time,For herb or grass may never growUpon ...
Even as a child, of sorrow that we giveThe dead, but little in his heart can find,Since without need of ...
THE summer comes again, yet nothing bringsOf him but memories of that clear-lit eye,That voice, that presence that can never ...
A larger Argo ploughs our clearer blue!Your Zephyr won no such auroral brideAs her I woo! The South is whence ...
Morning is due to all -- To some -- the Night -- To an imperial few -- The Auroral light. ...
Let me not mar that perfect Dream By an Auroral stain But so adjust my daily Night That it will ...
AN old man's thought of School; An old man, gathering youthful memories and blooms, that youth itself cannot. Now only ...
So when the verdure of his life was shed, With all the grace of ripened manlihead, And on his locks, ...
This is the tale that was told to me by the man with the crystal eye, As I smoked my ...
I Just as my fingers on these keys Make music, so the self-same sounds On my spirit make a music, ...
We shall launch our shallop on waters blue from some dim primrose shore, We shall sail with the magic of ...
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