Ballad of the Moon (Federico Garcia Lorca Poem)
The moon came into the forge in her bustle of flowering nard. The little boy stares at her, stares. The ...
The moon came into the forge in her bustle of flowering nard. The little boy stares at her, stares. The ...
You shall hear how Hiawatha Prayed and fasted in the forest, Not for greater skill in hunting, Not for greater ...
If the Led Striker call it a strike, Or the papers call it a war, They know not much what ...
On the idle hill of summer, Sleepy with the flow of streams, Far I hear the steady drummer Drumming like ...
Children are dumb to say how hot the day is, How hot the scent is of the summer rose, How ...
Sneakers of mud Squish between my toes Move to the music Unhinge my spine Rain upon me Don't have a ...
He's there, Little John to the other's Robin Buds enjoying the vibe The stalwart second to Marian's call and Robin's ...
Listening to the timpani the rhythm of the rain the rap, the tap, the ratta-tat-tat, the staccato of the drumming ...
(The Dry Salvages-presumably les trois sauvages-is a small group of rocks, with a beacon, off the N.E. coast of Cape ...
Thousands of sheep, soft-footed, black-nosed sheep-- one by one going up the hill and over the fence--one by one four-footed ...
IF you never came with a pigeon rainbow purple Shining in the six o'clock September dusk: If the red sumach ...
INTO the gulf and the pit of the dark night, the cold night, there is a man goes into the ...
THEY have taken the ball of earth and made it a little thing. They were held to the land and ...
Ah, but the City of Pain: how strange its streets are: the false silence of sound drowning sound, and there--proud, ...
That some day, emerging at last from the terrifying vision I may burst into jubilant praise to assenting angels! That ...
Fear, like a living fire that only death Might one day cool, had now in Avon's eyes Been witness for ...
It was not a heart, beating. That muted boom, that clangor Far off, not blood in the ears Drumming up ...
My Country The love of field and coppice Of green and shaded lanes, Of ordered woods and gardens Is running ...
My Country The love of field and coppice Of green and shaded lanes, Of ordered woods and gardens Is running ...
Barely a twelvemonth after The seven days war that put the world to sleep, Late in the evening the strange ...
Soul O Who shall, from this Dungeon, raise A Soul inslav'd so many wayes? With bolts of Bones, that fetter'd ...
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