The Garden Of The Sea. (Arthur Henry Adams Poems)
THE infinite garden of the sea is HisTo play in. Gravely smiling He resignsTo man his choice - this rugged ...
THE infinite garden of the sea is HisTo play in. Gravely smiling He resignsTo man his choice - this rugged ...
O Word concealed in the upper fire,Thou who hast lingered through centuries,Descend from thy rapt white desire,Plunging through gold eternities.Into ...
Over a scurf of rocks the tide Wanders inward far and wide, Lifting the sea-weed's sloven hair, ...
I love the lyric muse!For when mankind ran wild in grooves Came holy Orpheus with his songsAnd turned men's hearts ...
She does not "languish in her bower", Or squander all the golden day In fashioning a gaudy flower Upon a ...
"Who tamed your lawless Tartar blood? What David bearded in her den The Russian bear in ages when You strode ...
This is the land that we love; here our fathers found refuge,Here are the grooves of their plows and the ...
I On Caragh lake the evening light Is violet and amethyst, And the dark shadows of the pines ...
The Great soft downy snow storm like a cloak Descends to wrap the lean world head to feet; It gives ...
The cuckoo's double noteLoosened like bubbles from a drowning throatFloats through the airIn mockery of pipit, lark and stare.The stable-boys ...
There will be a rusty gun on the wall, sweetheart, The rifle grooves curling with flakes of rust. A spider ...
Hard Rock/ was/ "known not to take no shit From nobody," and he had the scars to prove it: Split ...
Bright sari in a darkened street - the lilting grey of Yorkshire sky; rust requiems for demolished mills - repeating ...
My youth was nothing but a black storm Crossed now and then by brilliant suns. The thunder and the rain ...
Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, The last of life, for which the first was ...
Comrades, leave me here a little, while as yet 't is early morn: Leave me here, and when you want ...
THERE will be a rusty gun on the wall, sweetheart, The rifle grooves curling with flakes of rust. A spider ...
Girls buck the wind in the grooves toward work in fuzzy coats promised to be warm as fur. The shop ...
When I got to his marker, I sat on it, like sitting on the edge of someone's bed and I ...
Bix to Buxtehude to Boulez, The little white dog on the Victor label Listens long and hard as he is ...
wade through black jade. Of the crow-blue mussel-shells, one keeps adjusting the ash-heaps; opening and shutting itself like an injured ...
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