The Verse of Coleridge’s ‘Christobel’ (Charles Harpur Poems)
MARK yon runnel how 'tis flowing,Like a sylvan spirit dreamingOf the Spring-blooms near it blowingAnd the sunlight in it gleaming!Where ...
MARK yon runnel how 'tis flowing,Like a sylvan spirit dreamingOf the Spring-blooms near it blowingAnd the sunlight in it gleaming!Where ...
Picassoyou give us Thingswhichbulge:grunting lungs pumped full of sharp thick mindyou make us shrillpresents alwaysshut in the sumptuous screech ofsimplicity(out ...
165A Wounded Deer - leaps highest -I've heard the Hunter tell -'Tis but the Ecstasy of death -And then the ...
How beautiful is the rain! After the dust and heat, In the broad and fiery street, In the narrow lane, ...
(i) introduction his home in ruins his parents gone frederick seeks to reclaim his throne to the golden mountain he ...
They are rhymes rudely strung with intent less Of sound than of words, In lands where bright blossoms are scentless, ...
in the wares before you spread, Types of all things may be read. 'NEATH the shadow Of these bushes, On ...
How lush, how loose, the uninhibited squash is. If ever hearts (and these immoderate leaves Are vegetable hearts) were worn ...
A Wounded Deer -- leaps highest -- I've heard the Hunter tell -- 'Tis but the Ecstasy of death -- ...
A Short Poem or Else Not Say I True pleasure breathes not city air, Nor in Art's temples dwells, In ...
Far from the Rappahannock, the silent Danube moves along toward the sea. The brown and green Nile rolls slowly Like ...
Where dips the rocky highland Of Sleuth Wood in the lake, There lies a leafy island Where flapping herons wake ...
A maiden sat in teh sunset glow Of the shadowy, beautiful Long Ago, That we see through a mist of ...
ROOTS and leaves themselves alone are these; Scents brought to men and women from the wild woods, and from the ...
I boasted among men that I had known you. They see your pictures in all works of mine. They come ...
WITH caws and chirrupings, the woods In this thin sun rejoice. The Psalm seems but the little kirk That sings ...
THERE is a wolf in me . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . a red tongue for raw meat . ...
To Henry St. John, Lord Bolingbroke Awake, my St. John! leave all meaner things To low ambition, and the pride ...
The First Epistle Awake, my ST. JOHN!(1) leave all meaner things To low ambition, and the pride of Kings. Let ...
My age, my beast, is there anyone Who can peer into your eyes And with his own blood fuse Two ...
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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