The Eve Of St. Agnes (John Keats Poem)
St. Agnes' Eve--Ah, bitter chill it was! The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold; The hare limp'd trembling through ...
St. Agnes' Eve--Ah, bitter chill it was! The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold; The hare limp'd trembling through ...
The Maple is a system of posture for wood. A way of not falling down for twigs that happens to ...
Part One The power of charity sows deep in my heart, and I reap and gather the wheat in bundles ...
Way darker than violet rich, saturated, pure color-wheel-purple shimmering color of the lilacs full bouquets on each branch bunches and ...
Out in the orchard, before the first apple placed gently in the bag, snap of the McIntosh to my bite, ...
Heavy drops of rain hang bodily from the green fruit, the bunches of berries long before the harvest hanging on ...
That sweet subtle wonderful smell of spring, of renewal, of beauty, in the tiny flowers, the bunches bundles of pristine ...
A poem a day, for the past year flowing from the keys I press, the pen, the paper, the gift ...
What tree may not the fig be gathered from? The grape may not be gathered from the birch? It's all ...
Mary sat musing on the lamp-flame at the table Waiting for Warren. When she heard his step, She ran on ...
New York: You take a train that rips through versts. It feels as if the trains were running over your ...
WITNESS FOR TROUT FISHING IN AMERICA PEACE In San Francisco around Easter time last year, they had a trout fishing ...
(PIANO DI SORRENTO.) Fortu, Frotu, my beloved one, Sit here by my side, On my knees put up both little ...
1 A SONG of the good green grass! A song no more of the city streets; A song of farms-a ...
On a day like this the rain comes down in fat and random drops among the ailanthus leaves---"the tree of ...
I ASKED the Mayor of Gary about the 12-hour day and the 7-day week. And the Mayor of Gary answered ...
BOX cars run by a mile long. And I wonder what they say to each other When they stop a ...
The word, defining, muzzles; the drawn line Ousts mistier peers and thrives, murderous, In establishments which imagined lines Can only ...
Unspeakable. The word that fills up the poem, that the head tries to excise. At 6 a.m., the wet lion. ...
It is the longest night in all the year, Near on the day when the Lord Christ was born; Six ...
The Year's twelve daughters had in turn gone by, Of measured pace tho' varying mien all twelve, Some froward, some ...
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