The News-Boy’s Dream of the New Year (Kate Seymour Maclean Poems)
Under the bare brown rafters, In his garret bed he lay,And dreamed of the bright hereafters. And the merry morns of May.The ...
Under the bare brown rafters, In his garret bed he lay,And dreamed of the bright hereafters. And the merry morns of May.The ...
When the hoot of the owl comes over the hill,At twelve o'clock when the night is still,And pale on the ...
A portly Wood-louse, full of cares,Transacted eminent affairsAlong a parapet where pearsUnripened fellAnd vines embellished the sweet airsWith muscatel.Day after ...
The Winter Wind, the wind of death,Who knocked upon my door,Now through the keyhole entereth,Invisible and hoar:He breathes around his ...
When you consider the radiance, that it does not withholditself but pours its abundance without selection into everynook and cranny ...
WI ' lang-legged Tam the bruise I tried,Though best o' foot, what wan he o?The first kiss of the blouzing ...
God had called us, and we came;Our loved Earth to ashes left; Heaven was a neighbor's house,Open flung to us, ...
'Tis the midnight hour; I heardThe Abbey-bell give out the word.Seldom is the lamp-ray shedOn some dwarfed foot-farer's headIn the ...
Out on the rocks primeval, The grey Maine rocks that slant and break to the sea, With the ...
Uninterruptedly falls the snow,Like meagre, long wool-strands, scant and slow,O'er the meagre, long plain disconsolate.Cold with lovelessness, warm with hate.Infinite, ...
Why is it that I sing no songs of you, Now, as in those old days I used to do? ...
Thou dear and well-loved haunt of happy hours, How often in some distant gallery, Gained by a little painful spiral ...
when they look into his mind they find a hill town somewhat surprised they go off to their learned books ...
Frequently the wood are pink -- Frequently are brown. Frequently the hills undress Behind my native town. Oft a head ...
A poet's cat, sedate and grave As poet well could wish to have, Was much addicted to inquire For nooks ...
Now as an angler melancholy standing Upon a green bank yielding room for landing, A wriggling yellow worm thrust on ...
When you consider the radiance, that it does not withhold itself but pours its abundance without selection into every nook ...
Desks are straining on all fours, flanks Heaving to hurl the hunched riders Down crack and cranny, buck Finger-snapping lids, ...
In Paris on a morn of May I sent a radio transalantic To catch a steamer on the way, But ...
God had called us, and we came; Our loved Earth to ashes left; Heaven was a neighbor's house, Open to ...
Through every nook and every cranny The wind blew in on poor old Granny Around her knees, into each ear ...
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