St. Alexis, Patron of Beggars (Joyce Kilmer Poem)
We who beg for bread as we daily tread Country lane and city street, Let us kneel and pray on ...
We who beg for bread as we daily tread Country lane and city street, Let us kneel and pray on ...
(For Cecil Chesterton) At the foot of the Cross on Calvary Three soldiers sat and diced, And one of them ...
I have been reading Pomfret's "Choice" this spring, A pretty kind of--sort of--kind of thing, Not much a verse, and ...
backroad leafmold stonewall chipmunk underbrush grapevine woodchuck shadblow woodsmoke cowbarn honeysuckle woodpile sawhorse bucksaw outhouse wellsweep backdoor flagstone bulkhead buttermilk ...
What shall I do when the Summer troubles -- What, when the Rose is ripe -- What when the Eggs ...
The Robin's my Criterion for Tune -- Because I grow -- where Robins do -- But, were I Cuckoo born ...
Precious to Me -- She still shall be -- Though She forget the name I bear -- The fashion of ...
I'm saying every day "If I should be a Queen, tomorrow" -- I'd do this way -- And so I ...
He parts Himself -- like Leaves -- And then -- He closes up -- Then stands upon the Bonnet Of ...
A Lady red -- amid the Hill Her annual secret keeps! A Lady white, within the Field In placid Lily ...
Come queen of months in company Wi all thy merry minstrelsy The restless cuckoo absent long And twittering swallows chimney ...
Brightly the sun of summer shone, Green fields and waving woods upon, And soft winds wandered by; Above, a sky ...
After the movie, when the lights come up, He takes her powdered hand behind the wings; She, all in yellow, ...
Here the white-ray'd anemone is born, Wood-sorrel, and the varnish'd buttercup; And primrose in its purfled green swathed up, Pallid ...
Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem- save that it's green and wooden- I come, ...
Who's she, that one in your arms? She's the one I carried my bones to and built a house that ...
Anna who was mad, I have a knife in my armpit. When I stand on tiptoe I tap out messages. ...
Sleepmonger, deathmonger, with capsules in my palms each night, eight at a time from sweet pharmaceutical bottles I make arrangements ...
Like as a dryad, from her native bole Coming at dusk, when the dim stars emerge, To a slow river ...
Lord, let me live, that more and more Your wonder world I may adore; With every dawn to grow and ...
From Child's Garden of Verses I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me, And what can ...
© 2020 Inspirational Stories