The Grave. From The Anglo-Saxon (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Poems)
For thee was a house builtEre thou wast born,For thee was a mould meantEre thou of mother camest.But it is ...
For thee was a house builtEre thou wast born,For thee was a mould meantEre thou of mother camest.But it is ...
That time, fair Licia, when I stole a kiss,From off those lips, where Cupid lovely laid,I quaked for cold, and ...
Barada, oh father of all riversOh, horse that races the daysBe, in our sad history, a prophetWho receives inspiration from ...
New formed Adam of the reddish earth, Exilde from Eden, Paradice of pleasure By Gods decree cast down to woes ...
On Nineveh's proud towers the sinking sun In cloudless splendor looks; nor, through the earth, Like glory doth behold. In ...
I'm standin' at the corner uv the Lane -- The Land called Spadgers -- waiting fer 'is jills.The night's come ...
IAll valor died not on the plains of Troy.Awake, my Muse, awake! be thine the joyTo sing of deeds as ...
And the Communists have nothing to offer but fat cheeks and eyeglasses and lying policemen and the Capitalists proffer Napalm ...
Written for the benefit of a distressed Player, detainedat Brighthelmstone for Debt, November 1792. WHEN in a thousand swarms, the ...
I hate men.I can't abide 'em even now and then.Than ever marry one of them, I'd rest a virgin rather,For ...
You can boast your round of pleasures, praise the sound of popping corks,Where the orchestra is playing to the rattle ...
"Willis, I didn't want you here to-day: The lawyer's coming for the company. I'm going to sell my soul, or, ...
The Lilac is an ancient shrub But ancienter than that The Firmamental Lilac Upon the Hill tonight -- The Sun ...
No man saw awe, nor to his house Admitted he a man Though by his awful residence Has human nature ...
WHEN that Aprilis, with his showers swoot*, *sweet The drought of March hath pierced to the root, And bathed every ...
I. You're my friend: I was the man the Duke spoke to; I helped the Duchess to cast off his ...
BOOK FIRST. I. ALL valor died not on the plains of Troy. Awake, my Muse, awake! be thine the joy ...
We sail out of season into on oyster-gray wind, over a terrible hardness. Where Dickens crossed with mal de mer ...
So spake the Son of God; and Satan stood A while as mute, confounded what to say, What to reply, ...
At night the wide and level stretch of wold, Which at high noon had basked in quiet gold, Far as ...
Many years have I still to burn, detained Like a candle flame on this body; but I enshine A darkness ...
© 2020 Inspirational Stories