The Death Of Kwasind (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Poem)
Far and wide among the nations Spread the name and fame of Kwasind; No man dared to strive with Kwasind, ...
Far and wide among the nations Spread the name and fame of Kwasind; No man dared to strive with Kwasind, ...
As I was spittin' into the Ditch aboard o' the Crocodile, I seed a man on a man-o'-war got up ...
We are very slightly changed From the semi-apes who ranged India's Prehistoric clay; He that drew the longest bow Ran ...
There are who lord it o'er their fellow-men With most prevailing tinsel: who unpen Their baaing vanities, to browse away ...
Beyond the narrows of the Inner Hebrides We sailed the cold angry sea toward Barra, where Heaval mountain Lifts like ...
The skin of the lake sliced not quite silently the fiberglass keel cutting the waves yet almost still after midnight ...
I brought one of my canoe paddles to the poetry presentation at school passing it around in the classroom watching ...
Moving from the stern into the center of the canoe Lowering my center of gravity heaving against the wind Out ...
the fog rising from the skin of the lake joining my breath, visible, glinting in the early fall morning light ...
The spray of the water splashing in the air crossing the wake, the wave other boats on the water Sitting ...
it was there, in that room, in the sharing of the good news, my brothers around me feeling a closeness ...
The canoe paddle, cuts through the surface, the skin of the lake, breaking the water's surface stirring the water as ...
Laying back in the canoe out in the middle of the lake northern Maine June, maybe July more than thirty ...
The smell of the brook trout percolated out from the tin foil, the butter and lemon joining the fresh catch, ...
At 1:00 in the morning on a moonlit, starlit night in northern Maine, in the Allagash Wilderness silent strangers, worked ...
The sun drops behind the shore, The sky aglow. Nightfall on the water. I pull and push The canoe away ...
Eight silent canoes Pushed off onto the still waters At 2am on a July night. The full moon and stars ...
Life is simple. In my canoe. Strokes in the water propel me forward. I chart my course around the cove. ...
The paddle and I Out in the middle of The churning lake. The wind pushed the bow Turning me around. ...
As I reached down To unlock my canoe From the tree, I held onto a Black birch sapling's branch. There, ...
Up ahead To my right Around the point before me A burst of squawks and the Beating of heavy wings ...
Up ahead To my right Around the point before me A burst of squawks and the Beating of heavy wings ...
Up ahead To my right Around the point Burst of squawks and Beating of heavy wings Filled the air The ...
On the water in my canoe moments of silence and reflection thoughts of you in my life life changes because ...
Campsite set Late afternoon Late June Grab a friend Get the canoe Head up the brook The tributary Portage through ...
There were two little skeezucks who lived in the isle Of Boo in a southern sea; They clambered and rollicked ...
The Waste Land by T. S. Eliot "Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis vidi in ampulla pendere, et ...
PART I On Susquehanna's side, fair Wyoming! Although the wild-flower on thy ruin'd wall, And roofless homes, a sad remembrance ...
Now as Heaven is my Lot, they're the Pests of the Nation! Wherever they can come With clankum and blankum ...
The chatter of a death-demon from a tree-top Blood -- blood and torn grass -- Had marked the rise of ...
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