To Moliere (Nicholas Boileau Despreaux Poems)
Unequaled genius, whose warm fancy knows No rhyming labor, no poetic throes; To whom Apollo has unlocked his store; Whose coin is struck ...
Unequaled genius, whose warm fancy knows No rhyming labor, no poetic throes; To whom Apollo has unlocked his store; Whose coin is struck ...
'E calls me Digger; that's 'ow 'e begins.'E sez 'e's only 'arf a man; an' grins.Judged be 'is nerve, I'd ...
Ah, haughty hills, sardonic solitudes, What wizard touch hath, crowning you with gold, Cast Tyrian purple o'er broad-shouldered woods, And to your pride ...
An Actor sits in doubtful gloom,His stock-in-trade unfurled,In a damp funereal dressing-roomIn the Theatre Royal, World.He comes to town at ...
Whoever guesses, thinks, or dreams, he knowsWho is my mistress, wither by this curse ;Him, only for his purseMay some ...
Welcome! welcome! little stranger,Welcome to my lone retreat,Here, secure from every danger,Hop about, and chirp, and eat.Robin! how I envy ...
September: 1643Sweet air and fresh; glades yet unsear'd by handOf Midas-finger'd Autumn, massy-green;Bird-haunted nooks between,Where feathery ferns, a fairy palmglove, ...
HARK! Young Democracy from sleep Our careless sentries raps: A backwash from the Future's deep Our Evil's foreland laps. Unknown, ...
'E calls me Digger; that's 'ow 'e begins.'E sez 'e's only 'arf a man; an' grins. Judged be 'is nerve, ...
I rode across a valley rangeI hadn't seen for years.The trail was all so spoilt and strangeIt nearly fetched the ...
Drip, drip, drip! It tinkles on the fly- The pitiless outpouring of an overburdened sky: Each drooping frond of pine ...
I know a beach road, A road where I would go,It runs up northward From Cooden Bay to Hoe;And there, ...
No haste but good, where wisdom makes the way, For proof whereof behold the simple snail (Who sees the soldier's ...
The lawyer, are you? Well! I ain't got nothin' to say. Nothin'! I told the perlice I hadn't nothin'. They ...
ACT I. SC. I Enter Teryth from riding, Winefred following. T. WHAT is it, Gwen, my girl? why do you ...
I "O Time, whence comes the Mother's moody look amid her labours, As of one who all unwittingly has wounded ...
from late december onwards the day comes back but not till february do we see those glimpses that let us ...
(For D. C. T., Killed at Fricourt, March, 1916) Yet once an earlier David took Smooth pebbles from the brook: ...
SANDBOX MINUS JOHN DILLINGER EQUALS WHAT? Often I return to the cover of Trout Fishing in America. I took the ...
Red lips are not so red As the stained stones kissed by the English dead. Kindness of wooed and wooer ...
Shake out my pockets! Harken to the call Of that calm voice that makes no sound at all! Take of ...
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