A Forgotten Tale (Arthur Conan Doyle Poems)
'Say, what saw you on the hill, Campesino Garcia?' 'I saw my brindled heifer there, A trail of bowmen, spent ...
'Say, what saw you on the hill, Campesino Garcia?' 'I saw my brindled heifer there, A trail of bowmen, spent ...
My house is low and small,But behind a row of trees,I catch the golden fallOf the sunset in the seas;And ...
At Waterloo, and up at early dawn. Before the labourers come, those saucy thieves, The larks, a meal have stolen ...
I AM inebriate with the sunlight's golden wine, And I would love with an insensate fury! Let me drain ...
Mere love, the common commerce of the earth, Is little in its uses; scarcely won, Ere o'ercloyed taste is sickened ...
Help for a patriot distressed, a spotless spirit hurt, Help for an honourable clan sore trampled in the dirt! From ...
Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A ...
Ah, Posthumus! our years hence fly And leave no sound: nor piety, Or prayers, or vow Can keep the wrinkle ...
TO THE HONOURED MR ENDYMION PORTER, GROOM OF THE BED-CHAMBER TO HIS MAJESTY Sweet country life, to such unknown, Whose ...
WILLIAM Dewy, Tranter Reuben, Farmer Ledlow late at plough, Robert's kin, and John's, and Ned's, And the Squire, and Lady ...
The blood of the lamb spirit, life, eternal life spread on the lintels of our hearts marking us, a chosen ...
HOW weak is man! how changeable his mind! His promises are naught, too oft we find; I vowed (I hope ...
Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown, Of thee, from the hill-top looking down; And the heifer, that lows ...
THOU, Liberty, thou art my theme; Not such as idle poets dream, Who trick thee up a heathen goddess That ...
This English Thames is holier far than Rome, Those harebells like a sudden flush of sea Breaking across the woodland, ...
BOOK FIRST. I. ALL valor died not on the plains of Troy. Awake, my Muse, awake! be thine the joy ...
Pellam the King, who held and lost with Lot In that first war, and had his realm restored But rendered ...
Who put that crease in your soul, Davies, ready this fine morning For the staid chapel, where the Book's frown ...
The Rector met a little lass Who led a heifer by a rope. Said he: "Why don't you go to ...
Est brevitate opus, ut currat sententia, neu se Impediat verbis lassas onerantibus aures: Et sermone opus est modo tristi, saepe ...
I thought he was dumb, said he was dumb, Yet I've heard him cry. First faint scream, Out of life's ...
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