Alma; or, The Progress of the Mind. In Three Cantos. – Canto III. (Matthew Prior Poems)
Richard, who now was half asleep,Roused, nor would longer silence keep;And sense like this, in vocal breath,Broke from his twofold ...
Richard, who now was half asleep,Roused, nor would longer silence keep;And sense like this, in vocal breath,Broke from his twofold ...
FIRST of Devon's thousand streams--(Beside whose banks no poet dreams,Since to her praise old Drayton fram'dHis pastoral reed, yet scarcely ...
The old man comes out on the hilland looks down to recall earlier daysin the valley. He sees the stream ...
The old man comes out on the hilland looks down to recall earlier daysin the valley. He sees the stream ...
Scene I.A Garden on the banks of the Thames, at Fulham, behind the Wynnes' lodgings. Time, evening. Moon and starlight. ...
IOne fairest of the ripe unwedded leftHer shadow on the Sage's path; he found,By common signs, that she had done ...
An'—wilt—yeh—take—this—woman—fer—to—be Yer—wedded—wife?— . . . O, strike me! Will I wot?Take 'er? Doreen? 'E stan's there arstin' me! As if ...
Jist 'ere it gripped me, on a sudden, like a red-'ot knife.I wus diggin' in the garden, talkin' pleasant to ...
Now, when a bloke 'e cracks a bloke fer insults to a skirt, An' wrecks a joint to square a ...
At any other time of yearIt might have passed, but Spring is queer. He says somethin' - I dunno - ...
THO' to Antiquity the Praise we yield Of pleasing Arts; and Fable's earli'st Field Own to be fruitful Greece; yet ...
Ole Mother Moon 'oo yanks 'er beamin' dile Acrost the sky when we've grown sick o' day,She's like some fat ...
I wus pickin' gipsy vi'lits fer to try an' square Doreen.We 'ad words . . . about pianners - fer ...
I Brag, sweet tenor bull, descant on Rawthey's madrigal, each pebble its part for the fells' late spring. Dance tiptoe, ...
THE Room is getting cold, one gas-light burns And the fire is now a monotonous red glow ; The old ...
My Garden -- like the Beach -- Denotes there be -- a Sea -- That's Summer -- Such as These ...
Bhaskar Roy Barman The moment I close my eyes in meditation on the unfathomable I visualize golden fleeces of cloud ...
O GOWDIE, terror o' the whigs, Dread o' blackcoats and rev'rend wigs! Sour Bigotry, on her last legs, Girns an' ...
1 AS I sat alone, by blue Ontario's shore, As I mused of these mighty days, and of peace return'd, ...
I'd reckon his weight as eight-stun-eight, And his height as five-foot-two, With a face as plain as an eight-day clock ...
It was the lunatic poet escaped from the local asylum, Loudly he twanged on his banjo and sang with his ...
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