The Train Of Life (Edmund William Gosse Poems)
WE traced the bleak ridge, to and fro, Grave forty, gay fourteen; While yellow larks, in heaven's blue glow, Like ...
WE traced the bleak ridge, to and fro, Grave forty, gay fourteen; While yellow larks, in heaven's blue glow, Like ...
The gorse is yellow on the heath,The banks with speedwell flowers are gay,The oaks are budding, and, beneath,The hawthorn soon ...
The sun on the reeds an' rushes, An' the sand outstretched before, An' the sun on the kelp an' ...
On Newlyn Hill the gorse is bright;Upon the hedgerows left and rightSong-dizzy birds the Spring-time greet;The bluebells weave a purple ...
OUT on the moor the sun is bright,And the gorse is yellow,The sky is blue and the air is light,And ...
Beneath the deep veranda's shade, When bats begin to fly, I sit me down and watch -- alas! -- Another ...
The Juggler's Hat her Country is -- The Mountain Gorse -- the Bee's! (Emily Dickinson)
Those moments, tasted once and never done, Of long surf breaking in the mid-day sun. A far-off blow-hole booming like ...
Where the thistle lifts a purple crown Six foot out of the turf, And the harebell shakes on the windy ...
The green elm with the one great bough of gold Lets leaves into the grass slip, one by one, -- ...
Some day, I think, there will be people enough In Froxfield to pick all the blackberries Out of the hedges ...
(France, August first, 1914) Far and near, high and clear, Hark to the call of War! Over the gorse and ...
Hurrah! I'm off to Finistere, to Finistere, to Finistere; My satchel's swinging on my back, my staff is in my ...
I've never ceased to curse the day I signed A seven years' bargain for the Golden Fleece. 'Twas a bad ...
Down by a shining water well I found a very little dell, No higher than my head. The heather and ...
The sheep were shorn and the wool went down At the time of our local racing; And I'd earned a ...
Who are these people at the bridge to meet me? They are the villagers---- The rector, the midwife, the sexton, ...
He had drifted in among us as a straw drifts with the tide, He was just a wand'ring mongrel from ...
Pitch here the tent, while the old horse grazes: By the old hedge-side we'll halt a stage. It's nigh my ...
IT is good to be out on the road, and going one knows not where, Going through meadow and village, ...
The quick sparks on the gorse bushes are leaping, Little jets of sunlight-texture imitating flame; Above them, exultant, the peewits ...
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