A Study Of Reading Habits (Philip Larkin Poem)
When getting my nose in a book Cured most things short of school, It was worth ruining my eyes To ...
When getting my nose in a book Cured most things short of school, It was worth ruining my eyes To ...
Now Time's Andromeda on this rock rude, With not her either beauty's equal or Her injury's, looks off by both ...
In the fairy tale the sky makes of itself a coat because it needs you to put it on. How ...
WEAVE the warp, and weave the woof, The winding-sheet of Edward's race. Give ample room, and verge enough The characters ...
Pindaric Ode "Ruin seize thee, ruthless King! Confusion on thy banners wait! Tho' fanned by Conquest's crimson wing, They mock ...
(A BALLAD IN THE ANGLO-SAXON TONGUE) When to the dreary greenwood gloam Winfreda's husband strode that day, The fair Winfreda ...
"Oh yes, I went over to Edmonstoun the other day and saw Johnny, mooning around as usual! He will never ...
Withal a meagre man was Aaron Stark, -- Cursed and unkempt, shrewd, shrivelled, and morose. A miser was he, with ...
I saw by looking in his eyes That they remembered everything; And this was how I came to know That ...
Snow is a strange white word. No ice or frost Has asked of bud or bird For Winter's cost. Yet ...
[As a Tribute of Esteem and Admiration this Poem is inscribed to ROBERT MERRY, Esq. A. M. Member of the ...
I. Where freezing wastes of dazzl'ing Snow O'er LEMAN'S Lake rose, tow'ring; The BARON GOLFRE'S Castle strong Was seen, the ...
Lo! 'tis a gala night Within the lonesome latter years. An angel throng, bewinged, bedight In veils, and drowned in ...
I'd tear like a wolf at bureaucracy. For mandates my respect's but the slightest. To the devil himself I'd chuck ...
The snow is white on wood and wold, The wind is in the firs, So dead my heart is with ...
A prisoner under the stars I lie, With no friend near; To-morrow they lead me forth to die, The stake ...
Hot August noon: already on that day Since sunrise through the Wiltshire downs, most sad Of mouth and eye, he ...
(He speaks, but to himself, being aware how it is with her) Think not I have not heard. Well-fanged the ...
A step-mother drove me from home, embittering me. A squaw-man, a flaneur and dilettante took my virtue. For years I ...
A Fantasy, dedicated to the little poet Alice Oliver Henderson, ten years old. The Fantasy shows how tiger-hearts are the ...
Through seas of dreams and seas of phantasies, Through seas of solitudes and vacancies, And through my Self, the deepest ...
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