Jugurtha (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Poem)
How cold are thy baths, Apollo! Cried the African monarch, the splendid, As down to his death in the hollow ...
How cold are thy baths, Apollo! Cried the African monarch, the splendid, As down to his death in the hollow ...
ENDYMION. A Poetic Romance. "THE STRETCHED METRE OF AN AN ANTIQUE SONG." INSCRIBED TO THE MEMORY OF THOMAS CHATTERTON. Book ...
The gold-hoarder walked in his palace park and with him walked his troubles. And over his head hovered worries as ...
We are to be, to bring the light of Christ, of our God, our savior A beacon shining into the ...
She spoke with power a personal witness challenging us serving those in prison coming to them, in prison sharing the ...
Be the water, the rain, the ice beating on the unmovable rock the drip, drip, furrowing, changing the stone. Be ...
What if I say I shall not wait! What if I burst the fleshly Gate -- And pass escaped -- ...
Unto like Story -- Trouble has enticed me -- How Kinsmen fell -- Brothers and Sister -- who preferred the ...
They put Us far apart -- As separate as Sea And Her unsown Peninsula -- We signified "These see" -- ...
Talk with prudence to a Beggar Of "Potose," and the mines! Reverently, to the Hungry Of your viands, and your ...
Let Us play Yesterday -- I -- the Girl at school -- You -- and Eternity -- the Untold Tale ...
Could I but ride indefinite As doth the Meadow Bee And visit only where I liked And No one visit ...
"OH, when I was a little Ghost, A merry time had we! Each seated on his favourite post, We chumped ...
I My hair is gray, but not with years, Nor grew it white In a single night, As men's have ...
Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind! Brightest in dungeons, Liberty, thou art; For there thy habitation is the heart- The ...
Sixteen below. Our care like stranded hulls litter all day our little Avenues. It was 28 below. No one goes ...
FAREWELL, ye dungeons dark and strong, The wretch's destinie! M'Pherson's time will not be long On yonder gallows-tree. Chorus.-Sae rantingly, ...
But in the Wine-presses the human grapes sing not nor dance: They howl and writhe in shoals of torment, in ...
I like walking on streets as black and wet as this one now, at two in the solemnly musical morning, ...
"O Trade! O Trade! would thou wert dead! The Time needs heart -- 'tis tired of head: We're all for ...
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