Strayed Reveller, The (Matthew Arnold Poem)
The Youth Faster, faster, O Circe, Goddess, Let the wild, thronging train The bright procession Of eddying forms, Sweep through ...
The Youth Faster, faster, O Circe, Goddess, Let the wild, thronging train The bright procession Of eddying forms, Sweep through ...
Coldly, sadly descends The autumn-evening. The field Strewn with its dank yellow drifts Of wither'd leaves, and the elms, Fade ...
Through Alpine meadows soft-suffused With rain, where thick the crocus blows, Past the dark forges long disused, The mule-track from ...
And the first grey of morning fill'd the east, And the fog rose out of the Oxus stream. But all ...
Go, for they call you, shepherd, from the hill; Go, shepherd, and untie the wattled cotes! No longer leave thy ...
In the burned house I am eating breakfast. You understand: there is no house, there is no breakfast, yet here ...
This is a word we use to plug holes with. It's the right size for those warm blanks in speech, ...
YE Irish lords, ye knights an' squires, Wha represent our brughs an' shires, An' doucely manage our affairs In parliament, ...
O THOU, who in the heavens does dwell, Who, as it pleases best Thysel', Sends ane to heaven an' ten ...
THE SUN had clos'd the winter day, The curless quat their roarin play, And hunger'd maukin taen her way, To ...
WHEN chill November's surly blast Made fields and forests bare, One ev'ning, as I wander'd forth Along the banks of ...
Oh wert thou in the cauld blast, On yonder lea, on yonder lea, My plaidie to the angry airt, I'd ...
FATE gave the word, the arrow sped, And pierc'd my darling's heart; And with him all the joys are fled ...
UPON 1 a simmer Sunday morn When Nature's face is fair, I walked forth to view the corn, An' snuff ...
WEE, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie, O, what a panic's in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi' ...
On Turning her up in her Nest with the Plough Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, O what a panic's in ...
I think of thee!-my thoughts do twine and bud About thee, as wild vines, about a tree, Put out broad ...
Is this a holy thing to see. In a rich and fruitful land. Babes reduced to misery. Fed with cold ...
When my mother died I was very young, And my father sold me while yet my tongue, Could scarcely cry ...
there is always that space there just before they get to us that space that fine relaxer the breather while ...
here comes the fishhead singing here comes the baked potato in drag here comes nothing to do all day long ...
© 2020 Inspirational Stories