The Son Of The Evening Star (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Poem)
Can it be the sun descending O'er the level plain of water? Or the Red Swan floating, flying, Wounded by ...
Can it be the sun descending O'er the level plain of water? Or the Red Swan floating, flying, Wounded by ...
Sing, O Song of Hiawatha, Of the happy days that followed, In the land of the Ojibways, In the pleasant ...
The wind comes whispering to me of the country green and cool-- Of redwing blackbirds chattering beside a reedy pool; ...
A dear old couple my grandparents were, And kind to all dumb things; they saw in Heaven The lamb that ...
It can't be "Summer"! That -- got through! It's early -- yet -- for "Spring"! There's that long town of ...
Among the taller wood with ivy hung, The old fox plays and dances round her young. She snuffs and barks ...
Farewell to the bushy clump close to the river And the flags where the butter-bump hides in forever; Farewell to ...
Writing from Boston, where sky is simply property, a flourish topping crowds of condos and historic real estate, I'm trying ...
Fair was the evening and brightly the sun Was shining on desert and grove, Sweet were the breezes and balmy ...
WHILE winds frae aff Ben-Lomond blaw, An' bar the doors wi' driving snaw, An' hing us owre the ingle, I ...
Water ruffled and speckled by galloping wind Which puffs and spurts it into tiny pashing breaks Dashed with lemon-yellow afternoon ...
FLOW gently, sweet Afton! amang thy green braes, Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise; My Mary's ...
HAIL, Poesie! thou Nymph reserv'd! In chase o' thee, what crowds hae swerv'd Frae common sense, or sunk enerv'd 'Mang ...
lonely as a dry and used orchard spread over the earth for use and surrender. shot down like an ex-pug ...
call it the greenhouse effect or whatever but it just doesn't rain like it used to. I particularly remember the ...
Where have you been, South Wind, this May-day morning,- With larks aloft, or skimming with the swallow, Or with blackbirds ...
I Among twenty snowy mountains, The only moving thing Was the eye of the black bird. II I was of ...
THERE was a high majestic fooling Day before yesterday in the yellow corn. And day after to-morrow in the yellow ...
A pair of blackbirds warring in the roses, one or two poppies losing their heads, the trampled lawn a battlefield ...
Down by the beautiful Lakes of Killarney, Off times I have met my own dear Barney, In the sweet summer ...
Pond snipe, bleached pine, rue weed, wart -- I walk by sedge and brown river rot to where the old ...
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