Thyrsis, a Monody (Matthew Arnold Poem)
How changed is here each spot man makes or fills! In the two Hinkseys nothing keeps the same; The village ...
How changed is here each spot man makes or fills! In the two Hinkseys nothing keeps the same; The village ...
And the first grey of morning fill'd the east, And the fog rose out of the Oxus stream. But all ...
Come, dear children, let us away; Down and away below! Now my brothers call from the bay, Now the great ...
What is it to grow old? Is it to lose the glory of the form, The lustre of the eye? ...
Go, for they call you, shepherd, from the hill; Go, shepherd, and untie the wattled cotes! No longer leave thy ...
STRAIT is the spot and green the sod From whence my sorrows flow; And soundly sleeps the ever dear Inhabitant ...
SWEET flow'ret, pledge o' meikle love, And ward o' mony a prayer, What heart o' stane wad thou na move, ...
THE BLUDE-RED rose at Yule may blaw, The simmer lilies bloom in snaw, The frost may freeze the deepest sea; ...
NOW Nature hangs her mantle green On every blooming tree, And spreads her sheets o' daisies white Out o'er the ...
WEE, modest crimson-tippèd flow'r, Thou's met me in an evil hour; For I maun crush amang the stoure Thy slender ...
THE WIND blew hollow frae the hills, By fits the sun's departing beam Look'd on the fading yellow woods, That ...
WHEN chapman billies leave the street, And drouthy neibors, neibors, meet; As market days are wearing late, And folk begin ...
A Tale "Of Brownyis and of Bogilis full is this Buke." -Gawin Douglas. When chapman billies leave the street, And ...
Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, How can ye bloom sae fair! How can ye chant, ye little birds, ...
ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH, IN APRIL, 1786 Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r, Thou's met me in an evil ...
I am like, They tell me, my dear father. Broader brows Howbeit, upon a slenderer undergrowth Of delicate ...
O Rose! who dares to name thee? No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet; But pale, and hard, and ...
How he sleepeth! having drunken Weary childhood's mandragore, From his pretty eyes have sunken Pleasures, to make room for more--- ...
hooray say the roses, today is blamesday and we are red as blood. hooray say the roses, today is Wednesday ...
We are like roses that have never bothered to bloom when we should have bloomed and it is as if ...
Bury thy sorrows, and they shall rise As souls to the immortal skies, And there look down like mothers' eyes. ...
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