Dead Selves (James Whitcomb Riley Poems)
How many of my selves are dead? The ghosts of many haunt me: Lo,The baby in the tiny bedWith rockers on, ...
How many of my selves are dead? The ghosts of many haunt me: Lo,The baby in the tiny bedWith rockers on, ...
A Song Farewel, farewel to Mortal Powers, and fond Ambitious Fools; Now guiltless Blood requireth ours, from Providence that Rules. Farewel to Monmouth, Horned Grey, who ...
1.Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the ...
With restless and ungoverned rageWhy do the heathen storm?Why in such rash attempts engage,As they can ne'er perform?The great in ...
I.Oft has thy Name employ'd my Muse,Thou Lord of all above:Oft has my Song to thee arose,My Song, inspir'd by ...
In vain, O mountain, this malignant mist Hides thy grand brow, and every wrinkle fills;In vain these envious levelling clouds insist Thou ...
Sons of freedom! break your slumbersThe day of glory's drawing nigh,Against us tyranny's red numbersRear their bloody banner high. ...
If you stand where I stand— In my boudoir— (don't mind my shaving— I can't afford a barber)— you can ...
Silvia, let's from the Crowd retire; For, What to you and me (Who but each other do desire) Is all ...
Thou say'st, my friend, 'twould strike thee with dismayTo be assured that life would not end here;Since utter death is ...
My window is the open sky, The flower in farthest wood is mine; I am the heir to all gone ...
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless ...
I Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and ...
Ah, Posthumus! our years hence fly And leave no sound: nor piety, Or prayers, or vow Can keep the wrinkle ...
A rain of color, the leaves of the maples, different kinds, red, sugar, swamp, all torquing, canting, twisting, inexorably, to ...
Silvia, let's from the Crowd retire; For, What to you and me (Who but each other do desire) Is all ...
I A washing hangs upon the line, but it's not mine. None of the things that I can see belong ...
My God, how many are my fears! How fast my foes increase! Conspiring my eternal death, They break my present ...
The light of evening, Lissadell, Great windows open to the south, Two girls in silk kimonos, both Beautiful, one a ...
Doubts and fears suppressed. My God, how many are my fears! How fast my foes increase! Conspiring my eternal death, ...
On the long shore, lit by the moon To show them properly alone, Two lovers suddenly embraced So that their ...
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