The Garden Of Boccaccio (Samuel Coleridge Poem)
Of late, in one of those most weary hours, When life seems emptied of all genial powers, A dready ...
Of late, in one of those most weary hours, When life seems emptied of all genial powers, A dready ...
Far spread the moorey ground a level scene Bespread with rush and one eternal green That never felt the rage ...
Doors were left open in heaven again: drafts wheeze, clouds wrap their ripped pages around roofs and trees. Like wet ...
Cut down that timber! Bells, too many and strong, Pouring their music through the branches bare, From moon-white church towers ...
From the geyser ventilators Autumn winds are blowing down On a thousand business women Having baths in Camden Town Waste ...
Lough, vessel, plough the British main, Seek the free ocean's wider plain; Leave English scenes and English skies, Unbind, dissever ...
' SISTER, you've sat there all the day, Come to the hearth awhile; The wind so wildly sweeps away, The ...
Away, ye gay landscapes, ye garden of roses! In you let the minions of luxury rove; Restore me to the ...
Sixteen below. Our care like stranded hulls litter all day our little Avenues. It was 28 below. No one goes ...
My youth was nothing but a black storm Crossed now and then by brilliant suns. The thunder and the rain ...
"As certain also of your own poets have said"-- (Acts 17.28) Cleon the poet (from the sprinkled isles, Lily on ...
Earliest morning, switching all the tracks that cross the sky from cinder star to star, coupling the ends of streets ...
BALKIS was in her marble town, And shadow over the world came down. Whiteness of walls, towers and piers, That ...
1) An individual spider web identifies a species: an order of instinct prevails through all accidents of circumstance, though possibility ...
IF God compel thee to this destiny, To die alone, with none beside thy bed To ruffle round with sobs ...
The sky is an immortal tent built by the Sons of Los: And every space that a man views around ...
The sky is an immortal tent built by the Sons of Los: And every space that a man views around ...
How sweet I roam'd from field to field, And tasted all the summer's pride 'Til the prince of love beheld ...
I was angry with my friend; I told my wrath, my wrath did end. I was angry with my foe: ...
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