The Poet’s Garret (Mary Elizabeth Robinson Poems)
COME, sportive Fancy ! Come with me, and traceThe POET'S Attic home ! The lofty seatOf th' Heaven-tutor'd Nine ! ...
COME, sportive Fancy ! Come with me, and traceThe POET'S Attic home ! The lofty seatOf th' Heaven-tutor'd Nine ! ...
In olden time--in great Eliza's age,When rare Ben Jonson ruled the humorous stage,No play without its Prologue might appearTo earn ...
What are these women up to? They've gone and strung Drapes over the windows, cutting out light And the slightest ...
Dear Dolly! who does not recallThe thrilling page that pictured allThose charms that held our sense in thrall Just as ...
When I was a young man, I loved to write poems And I called a spade ...
Often a song sings in my soul, sad and forlorn,For two people, who so yearned to be lovers sworn.In a ...
When we fear, when we question, when we are nervous our lives out of control, unregulated, at the whim of ...
We gathered, in a circle in the Parlor of the church gathering to study your word, the message in the ...
Every month or so, Sundays, we walked the line, The limit and the boundary. Past the sweet gum Superb above ...
The admirable number pi: three point one four one. All the following digits are also just a start, five nine ...
Ah, but the City of Pain: how strange its streets are: the false silence of sound drowning sound, and there--proud, ...
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