Cassandra (George Meredith Poems)
ICaptive on a foreign shore,Far from Ilion's hoary wave,Agamemnon's bridal slaveSpeaks Futurity no more:Death is busy with her grave. ...
ICaptive on a foreign shore,Far from Ilion's hoary wave,Agamemnon's bridal slaveSpeaks Futurity no more:Death is busy with her grave. ...
HERE Morris, on the plains that we have loved,Think of the death of Akoose, fleet of foot,Who, in his prime, ...
MAORILAND, my mother!Holds the earth so fair another?O, my land of the moa and Maori,Garlanded grand with your forests of ...
You can sigh o'er the sad-eyed Armenian Who weeps in her desolate home. You can mourn o'er the exile of ...
Like as a terrible fire feeds fast on a forest enormous,Up on a mountain height, and ...
" Cauld winds o' November, sae keenly they blaw And the leaves o' the woodland they scattered and fa'; Oh, ...
"ALIVE?"--And I leapt in my wonder, Was faint of my joyance, And grasses and grove shone in garments Of glory ...
If I had been a Heathen, I'd have praised the purple vine, My slaves should dig the vineyards, And I ...
Away, ye gay landscapes, ye garden of roses! In you let the minions of luxury rove; Restore me to the ...
LARA. CANTO THE FIRST. I. The Serfs are glad through Lara's wide domain, And slavery half forgets her ...
A Thurn Among them marble where the man may lie lie chieftains grand in final phase, or pause, 'O rare ...
I SING of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth, I sing of a Whistle, the pride of the North. Was ...
Fled foam underneath us, and round us, a wandering and milky smoke, High as the Saddle-girth, covering away from our ...
1 WEAPON, shapely, naked, wan! Head from the mother's bowels drawn! Wooded flesh and metal bone! limb only one, and ...
BOOK FIRST. I. ALL valor died not on the plains of Troy. Awake, my Muse, awake! be thine the joy ...
Their strength had fed on this when Death's white arms Came sleeved in vapors and miasmal dew, Curling across the ...
When I consider Life and its few years -- A wisp of fog betwixt us and the sun; A call ...
HOW came this pigmy rabble spun, After the gods and kings of old, Upon a tapestry begun With threads of ...
Sing, sweet Harp, oh sing to me Some song of ancient days, Whose sounds, in this sad memory, Long-buried dreams ...
[The late Mr. Jonathan Swift Somers, laureate of Spoon River, planned The Spooniad as an epic in twenty-four books, but ...
I. A NEGRO SERMON:-SIMON LEGREE (To be read in your own variety of negro dialect.) Legree's big house was white ...
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