The Scholar Gypsy (Matthew Arnold Poem)
Go, for they call you, shepherd, from the hill; Go, shepherd, and untie the wattled cotes! No longer leave thy ...
Go, for they call you, shepherd, from the hill; Go, shepherd, and untie the wattled cotes! No longer leave thy ...
I'm thinking about you. What else can I say? The palm trees on the reverse are a delusion; so is ...
MY lord, I know your noble ear Woe ne'er assails in vain; Embolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear Your humble ...
LONE on the bleaky hills the straying flocks Shun the fierce storms among the sheltering rocks; Down from the rivulets, ...
THE WIND blew hollow frae the hills, By fits the sun's departing beam Look'd on the fading yellow woods, That ...
WHEN biting Boreas, fell and dour, Sharp shivers thro' the leafless bow'r; When Phoebus gies a short-liv'd glow'r, Far south ...
WAE is my heart, and the tear's in my e'e; Lang, lang has Joy been a stranger to me: Forsaken ...
YE Jacobites by name, give an ear, give an ear, Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear, Ye Jacobites by ...
FROM thee, Eliza, I must go, And from my native shore; The cruel fates between us throw A boundless ocean's ...
'TIS Friendship's pledge, my young, fair Friend, Nor thou the gift refuse, Nor with unwilling ear attend The moralising Muse. ...
EXPERIENCE, like a pale musician, holds A dulcimer of patience in his hand, Whence harmonies, we cannot understand, Of God; ...
Go, sit upon the lofty hill, And turn your eyes around, Where waving woods and waters wild Do hymn an ...
1 He listened at the porch that day, To hear the wheel go on, and on; And then it stopped, ...
Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers, Ere the sorrow comes with years? They are leaning their young ...
THEL'S MOTTO 1 Does the Eagle know what is in the pit? 2 Or wilt thou go ask the Mole? ...
AFRICA I will sing you a song of Los. the Eternal Prophet: He sung it to four harps at the ...
Why should I care for the men of thames Or the cheating waves of charter'd streams Or shrink at the ...
The wild winds weep And the night is a-cold; Come hither, Sleep, And my griefs infold: But lo! the morning ...
Already I am no longer looked at with lechery or love. My daughters and sons have put me away with ...
Van Gogh cut off his ear gave it to a prostitute who flung it away in extreme disgust. Van, whores ...
The wondrous moment of our meeting... I well remember you appear Before me like a vision fleeting, A beauty's angel ...
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