Faith’s Resurgance (Archbishop William Alexander Poems)
IIn the Indian dawnMany a long, voluminous fold,Vicious blue and viscous gold,Twenty living feet of hell,Glides a snake into the ...
IIn the Indian dawnMany a long, voluminous fold,Vicious blue and viscous gold,Twenty living feet of hell,Glides a snake into the ...
ONCE more, my harp! once more, although I thought Never to wake thy silent strings again, A wandering dream thy ...
I. Silence! coeval with Eternity;Thou wert, ere Nature's-self began to be,'Twas one vast Nothing, all, and all slept fast in ...
There be poets in plenty have sung in the praiseOf the famous old names out of Old Navy days,Of Victory, ...
Thou damn'd antipodes to common-sense, Thou foil to Flecknoe, pr'ythee tell from whence Does all this mighty stock of ...
IN winter days you came to me,When sitters all had taken flight,When I no longer thought to seeGay faces by ...
I WALK'D along a stream, for pureness rare, Brighter than sun-shine; for it did acquaintThe dullest sight with all the ...
How like the map that marks my varied wayThrough life, these pages seem!A specked piece -- a mix'd displayOf sadness, ...
How dar'st thou, Scribler, to the World to own,Apollo thee inspir'd to "grave Pope's Stone?"Wretch that thou art, who shall ...
O Sovereign power of love! O grief! O balm! All records, saving thine, come cool, and calm, And shadowy, through ...
What art thou, SPLEEN, which ev'ry thing dost ape? Thou Proteus to abus'd Mankind, Who never yet thy real Cause ...
Thousand minstrels woke within me, "Our music's in the hills; "- Gayest pictures rose to win me, Leopard-colored rills. Up!-If ...
THOU, Nature, partial Nature, I arraign; Of thy caprice maternal I complain. The peopled fold thy kindly care have found, ...
LATE crippl'd of an arm, and now a leg, About to beg a pass for leave to beg; Dull, listless, ...
Mother of musings, Contemplation sage, Whose grotto stands upon the topmost rock Of Teneriffe; 'mid the tempestuous night, On which, ...
I write my name as one, On sands by waves o'errun Or winter's frosted pane, Traces a record vain. Oblivion's ...
As sinn makes gross the soule and thickens it To fleshy dulness, so the spotless white Of virgin pureness made ...
As Rochefoucauld his maxims drew From nature, I believe 'em true: They argue no corrupted mind In him; the fault ...
'Tis hard to say, if greater Want of Skill Appear in Writing or in Judging ill, But, of the two, ...
To Henry St. John, Lord Bolingbroke Awake, my St. John! leave all meaner things To low ambition, and the pride ...
Shut, shut the door, good John! fatigu'd, I said, Tie up the knocker, say I'm sick, I'm dead. The dog-star ...
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