The “William P. Frye” (Jeanne Robert Foster Poems)
I saw her first abreast the Boston Light At anchor; she had just come in, turned head, And sent her hawsers creaking, ...
I saw her first abreast the Boston Light At anchor; she had just come in, turned head, And sent her hawsers creaking, ...
We had a city also. Hand in handWandered happy as travellers our own land.Murmured in turn the hearsay of each ...
I saw her first abreast the Boston LightAt anchor; she had just come in, turned head,And sent her hawsers creaking, ...
His wage of rest at nightfall still He takes, who sixty years has knownOf ploughing over Cotsall hill And keeping trim the ...
Cramped in that funnelled hole, they watched the dawnOpen a jagged rim around; a yawnOf death's jaws, which had all ...
Here all the day she swings from tide to tide, Here all night long she tugs a rusted chain, A ...
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