The Layers of Fruit (Raymond A. Foss Poem)
Bound by the season the layers of fruit when I am making the salad but making it work Layers to ...
Bound by the season the layers of fruit when I am making the salad but making it work Layers to ...
Around town, as the snow melted in the yards, by the streets, browning white Pristine white remained cloistered, away from ...
Little clear puddles atop the forming mud little pools at the edge melting piles of snow browning in the thawing ...
Steam rose Over the ribbon threaded Through the frozen marsh This waking Frost encrusted the Silent cattails, Highlighted the skin ...
How blind the toil that burrows like the mole, In winding graveyard pathways underground, For Browning's lineage! What if men ...
Words shouting, singing, smiling, frowning-- Sense lacking. Ah, nothing, more obscure than Browning, Save blacking. (Ambrose Bierce)
"Ah, did you once see Shelley plain?" -- Browning. "Shelley? Oh, yes, I saw him often then," The old man ...
in these red labyrinths of London I find that I have chosen the strangest of all callings, save that, in ...
I. So far as our story approaches the end, Which do you pity the most of us three?- My friend, ...
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height ...
Oh, I was born a lyric babe (That last word is a bore - It's only rhyme is astrolabe," Whose ...
Of Poetry I've been accused, But much more often I have not; Oh, I have been so much amused By ...
In youth when oft my muse was dumb, My fancy nighly dead, To make my inspiration come I stood upon ...
LAST night a January wind was ripping at the shingles over our house and whistling a wolf song under the ...
"Where's the need of singing now?"-- Smooth your brow, Momus, and be reconciled. For king Kronos is a child-- Child ...
(1) This is the sea, then, this great abeyance. How the sun's poultice draws on my inflammation. Electrifyingly-colored sherbets, scooped ...
All the air conditioners now slacken their hummed carrier wave. Once again we've served our three months with remissions in ...
Dead! all's done with! -- R. Browning. These blossoms that I bring, This song that here I sing, These tears ...
There is delight in singing, though none hear Beside the singer; and there is delight In praising, though the praiser ...
'Help, help, ' said a man. 'I'm drowning.' 'Hang on, ' said a man from the shore. 'Help, help, ' ...
Elizabeth Barrett Browning Sat gossiping with Robert. (She was really a raving beauty in her day. With Mary Pickford curls ...
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