Xlvii. _beauty’s intolerable splendour._ (Michelangelo Buonarroti Poems)
Se 'l foco alla bellezza.If but the fire that lightens in thine eyes Were equal with their beauty, all the snow And ...
Se 'l foco alla bellezza.If but the fire that lightens in thine eyes Were equal with their beauty, all the snow And ...
Now, when our Lord was come to eighteen years,The King commanded that there should be builtThree stately houses, one of ...
I.The times are changed, and gone the dayWhen the high heavenly land,Though unbeheld, quite near them lay,And men could understand.The ...
Once again within the city, 'mid its multitudinous din, Stand I, while, as sinks a leaf when left by the ...
'Oo is that girl, sez Digger Smith,That never seems to bother with No blokes: the bint with curly 'air? I've ...
I AM a weakling. God, who made The still, strong man, made also me. The God who ...
In the fair morning of his life, When his pure heart lay in his breast, Panting, ...
To St. John PerseOnce more the country callsFrom sleep, as from his doom,Each citizen to takeHis modest stakeWhere the sky ...
Now in these last spent drops, slow, slower shed,Love dies, Love dies, Love dies--ah, Love is dead!Sad Love in life, ...
There is grief in the cup!I saw a proud mother set wine on the board;The eyes of her son sparkled ...
God's own best will bide the testAnd God's own worst will fall;But, best or worst or last or first,He ...
I'll turn round in the street and look at the passers-by,I'll be a passer-by myself. I'll learnhow to get up ...
What man dare say that he is quite immuneFrom charms and spells that ev'ry girl possesses? A budding love is ...
Fire in the heavens, and fire along the hills,and fire made solid in the flinty stone,thick-mass'd or scatter'd pebble, fire ...
Fire in the heavens, and fire along the hills, and fire made solid in the flinty stone, thick-massed or scattered ...
Anticipation is the oil that feedsThe flame of life. It is the Siren fairThat sings at twilight in the hollow ...
The incoherent rushing of the train Dulls like a drugged pain Numbs To an ether throbbing of inaudible drums Unfolds ...
Closed like confessionals, they thread Loud noons of cities, giving back None of the glances they absorb. Light glossy grey, ...
The wind, that beats the mountain, blows More softly round the open wold, And gently comes the world to those ...
Straw in the street where I pass to-day Dulls the sound of the wheels and feet. 'Tis for a failing ...
The perfume of your body dulls my sense. I want nor wine nor weed; your breath alone Suffices. In this ...
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