Sadness (Donald Justice Poems)
1Dear ghosts, dear presences, O my dear parents,Why were you so sad on porches, whispering?What great melancholies were loosed among ...
1Dear ghosts, dear presences, O my dear parents,Why were you so sad on porches, whispering?What great melancholies were loosed among ...
Jeanne-Marie has strong hands; dark hands tanned by the summer, pale hands like dead hands. Are they the hands of ...
"WE sail toward evening's lonely star That trembles in the tender blue; One single cloud, a dusky bar, ...
Down thro' the ages these same sticksHave played on man their knavish tricks. Down thro' the ages these false lips ...
558But little Carmine hath her face -Of Emerald scant - her Gown -Her Beauty - is the love she doth ...
1 A yellow band of light upon the street Pours from an open door, and makes a wide Pathway of ...
1 Dear ghosts, dear presences, O my dear parents, Why were you so sad on porches, whispering? What great melancholies ...
When such a day, blesst the Arcadian plaine, Warm without Sun, and shady without rain, Fann'd by an air, that ...
She was thinner, with a mannered gauntness as she paused just inside the double glass doors to survey the room, ...
But little Carmine hath her face -- Of Emerald scant -- her Gown -- Her Beauty -- is the love ...
She slept beneath a tree -- Remembered but by me. I touched her Cradle mute -- She recognized the foot ...
I am alive -- I guess -- The Branches on my Hand Are full of Morning Glory -- And at ...
From a letter from STC to Wordsworth after writing The Nightingale: In stale blank verse a subject stale I send ...
Each small gleam was a voice, A lantern voice -- In little songs of carmine, violet, green, gold. A chorus ...
(with apologies to Frederic Taber Cooper) I well recall (and who does not) The circus bill-board hippopotamus, whose wide distended ...
I am poor brother Lippo, by your leave! You need not clap your torches to my face. Zooks, what's to ...
1 Adios, Carenage In idle August, while the sea soft, and leaves of brown islands stick to the rim of ...
The half-stripped trees struck by a wind together, bending all, the leaves flutter drily and refuse to let go or ...
I know a village in a far-off land Where from a sunny, mountain-girdled plain With tinted walls a space on ...
Quid facis Arctoi charissime transfuga coeli, Ingele, proh sero cognite, rapte cito? Num satis Hybernum defendis pellibus Astrum, Qui modo ...
Quisnam adeo, mortale genus, praecordia versat: Heu Palmae, Laurique furor, vel simplicis Herbae! Arbor ut indomitos ornet vix una labores; ...
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