H.M.S. Foudroyant (Arthur Conan Doyle Poems)
Ho! says the Nation's purse is lean, Who fears for claim or bond or debt, When all the glories that ...
Ho! says the Nation's purse is lean, Who fears for claim or bond or debt, When all the glories that ...
BESIDE the dusty road of life, Deflower'd with toil and foul with strife, Lie hid within a charm of dew ...
We planned a glorious voyage, my Captain bold and I,To sail in bliss on summer seas while halcyon days went ...
Grey gloom the storm-clouds in the Orient far, Foreshadowing dark and anxious hours to be,Where Britain's rivals to her ...
If I might leave this harbour, if I might cross the sea,'Tis I that know full well where a little ...
The ships to the westward, by night and by day,In storm and in sunshine go forth on their way,The big ...
OH, what know they of harboursWho toss not on the Sea!They tell of fairer havensBut none so fair there beAs ...
OH! what know they of harbours Who toss not on the sea? They tell of fairer havens, But none so ...
And they heard the tent-poles clatter, And the fly in twain was torn - 'Tis the soiled rag of a ...
Ah, well! but the case seems hopeless, and the pen might write in vain; The people gabble of old things ...
when they look into his mind they find a hill town somewhat surprised they go off to their learned books ...
Some man unworthy to be possessor Of old or new love, himself being false or weak, Thought his pain and ...
I'LL gaze no more on her bewitching face, Since ruin harbours there in every place ; For my enchanted soul ...
I am poor brother Lippo, by your leave! You need not clap your torches to my face. Zooks, what's to ...
A quay with vessels moored Thomas To India! Yea, here I may take ship; From here the courses go over ...
THE SIMPLE Bard, rough at the rustic plough, Learning his tuneful trade from ev'ry bough; The chanting linnet, or the ...
Emily, A ship is floating in the harbour now, A wind is hovering o'er the mountain's brow; There is a ...
Est brevitate opus, ut currat sententia, neu se Impediat verbis lassas onerantibus aures: Et sermone opus est modo tristi, saepe ...
Fairest! put on a while These pinions of light I bring thee, And o'er thy own green isle In fancy ...
I saw a tiny God Sitting Under a bright blue umbrella That had white tassels And forked ribs of gold. ...
After two sittings, now our Lady State To end her picture does the third time wait. But ere thou fall'st ...
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