An Epistle To Sir John Blount City: London (Nicholas Amhurst Poems)
Wonder not Blount, whose magick HandLifts to the Clouds thy native Land,That in these busy, golden Times,Thy Ears are teaz'd ...
Wonder not Blount, whose magick HandLifts to the Clouds thy native Land,That in these busy, golden Times,Thy Ears are teaz'd ...
The Poet's dead! - a slave to honor -He fell, by rumor slandered,Lead in his breast and thirsting for revenge,Hanging ...
How oft on Sundays, when I'd time to tramp,My rambles led me to a gipsy's camp,Where the real effigy of ...
And so to-day--they lay him away-- the boy nobody knows the name of-- the buck private--the unknown soldier-- the doughboy ...
You come along. . . tearing your shirt. . . yelling about Jesus. Where do you ...
Duet Sung by the Laird and His Daughter MysieLaird."O what do you think o' Geordie noo?O what do you think ...
For Carl Solomon I I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves ...
Jim just loves to garden, yes he does. He likes nothing better than to put on his little overalls and ...
Jim just loves to garden, yes he does. He likes nothing better than to put on his little overalls and ...
YOU come along. . . tearing your shirt. . . yelling about Jesus. Where do you get that stuff? What ...
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