Lines On Marle Field (James Thomson Poems)
What is the task that to the muse belongs?What but to deck in her harmonious songsThe beauteous works of nature ...
What is the task that to the muse belongs?What but to deck in her harmonious songsThe beauteous works of nature ...
If now the sun extends his cheering beam,And all the landscape casts a golden gleamClear is the sky, and calm ...
Within the greenhouse dim and damp The heat floats like a cloud.Pale rose-leaves droop from the rust roof With rust-edged roses bowed. As ...
Yes, bright the velvet lawn appears,And fair the blooming bowers;Yet blame me not-I view with tears,This scene of light and ...
Am I to become profligate as if I were a blonde? Or religiousas if I were French?Each time my heart ...
Last night, at sunset, The foxgloves were like tall altar candles. Could I have lifted you to the roof of ...
I Hoops Blue and pink sashes, Criss-cross shoes, Minna and Stella run out into the garden To play at hoop. ...
Anything can be altered by the hand of man Nowhere on the planet is immune The trees were cut down ...
Macavity's a Mystery Cat: he's called the Hidden Paw-- For he's the master criminal who can defy the Law. He's ...
Is the current rate of global warming a serious and cogent warning? Do we need to think about the fact ...
Remember the 1340's? We were doing a dance called the Catapult. You always wore brown, the color craze of the ...
Every month or so, Sundays, we walked the line, The limit and the boundary. Past the sweet gum Superb above ...
call it the greenhouse effect or whatever but it just doesn't rain like it used to. I particularly remember the ...
The night's drifts Pile up below me and behind my back, Slide down the hill, rise again, and build Eerie ...
My doctor, the comedian I called you every time and made you laugh yourself when I wrote this silly rhyme... ...
Poem by Anne-Marie Derése, translated by Judith Skillman. Night opens to the storm, a mauve coupling, swollen. The sky, laden ...
In Saginaw, in Saginaw, The wind blows up your feet, When the ladies' guild puts on a feed, There's beans ...
A girl whom I've not spoken to or shared coffee with for several years writes of an old scar. On ...
I who kept the greenhouse, Lover of trees and flowers, Oft in life saw this umbrageous elm, Measuring its generous ...
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