The Future (Matthew Arnold Poem)
A wanderer is man from his birth. He was born in a ship On the breast of the river of ...
A wanderer is man from his birth. He was born in a ship On the breast of the river of ...
And the first grey of morning fill'd the east, And the fog rose out of the Oxus stream. But all ...
I ask not that my bed of death From bands of greedy heirs be free; For these besiege the latest ...
Creep into thy narrow bed, Creep, and let no more be said! Vain thy onset! all stands fast. Thou thyself ...
Gone are the days when you could walk on water. When you could walk. The days are gone. Only one ...
There is nothing to be afraid of, it is only the wind changing to the east, it is only your ...
each man must realize that it can all disappear very quickly: the cat, the woman, the job, the front tire, ...
sometimes you climb out of bed in the morning and you think, I'm not going to make it, but you ...
There are sketches on the walls of men and women and ducks, and outside a large green bus swerves through ...
They are building a house half a block down and I sit up here with the shades down listening to ...
out of the arm of one love and into the arms of another I have been saved from dying on ...
she was a short one getting fat and she had once been beautiful and she drank the wine she drank ...
call it the greenhouse effect or whatever but it just doesn't rain like it used to. I particularly remember the ...
when I look back now at the abuse I took from her I feel shame that I was so innocent, ...
from my bed I watch 3 birds on a telephone wire. one flies off. then another. one is left, then ...
at the track today, Father's Day, each paid admission was entitled to a wallet and each contained a little surprise. ...
when God created love he didn't help most when God created dogs He didn't help dogs when God created plants ...
a girlfriend came in built me a bed scrubbed and waxed the kitchen floor scrubbed the walls vacuumed cleaned the ...
I cut the middle fingernail of the middle finger right hand real short and I began rubbing along her cunt ...
waiting for death like a cat that will jump on the bed I am so very sorry for my wife ...
Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory— Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken. ...
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