Dedication. To my Mother (Margaret Holford Poems)
My Mother, thou hast not forgot the hour,Tho' Time since then is far upon his way,When youth and beauty crown'd ...
My Mother, thou hast not forgot the hour,Tho' Time since then is far upon his way,When youth and beauty crown'd ...
O constellations of the early night,That sparkled brighter as the twilight died,And made the darkness glorious! I have seenYour rays ...
1.YE fabled Sisters of th' Aonian Mount,Who strike the harp, and touch the golden lyre,Be present here as at Castalia's ...
Celestial poesy! whose genial swayEarth's furthest habitable shores obey;Whose inspirations shed their sacred light,Far as the regions of the Arctic ...
Let the classic pilgrim rove,By Egeria's fount to stand,Or sit in Vancluse's grot of love,Afar from his native land;Let him ...
You have ask'd for a verse:--the request In a rhymer 'twere strange to deny;But my Hippocrene was but my breast, And my ...
On receiving a bottle of Sherry Wine of the same nameWHAT "blushing Hippocrene" is here! what fireOf the "warm South" ...
There is no god but gold, my son,Each man but wins his price.The man who fails is the man to ...
DEAR BEATRICE , with pleasure I read your kind letter;On the subject, methinks, there could scarce be a better:How vivid ...
_THE ENGLISH RENAISSANCE_1491 As she who in some village-child unknown, With rustic grace and fantasy bedeck'd And in her simple ...
IWith love exceeding a simple love of the thingsThat glide in grasses and rubble of woody wreck;Or change their perch ...
IMaimed, beggared, grey; seeking an alms; with nodOf palsy doing task of thanks for bread;Upon the stature of a God,He ...
You are growing convalescent As pain's fingers are withdrawn;And you waken in a strange, white room at last; Yet your ...
I LOVE it, yet I hardly can tell why -My studio with its window to the sky,Far up above the ...
THE flower-crowned Greek, amid his ilex-groves, Breathing sweet breath, the morning in his heart, Is Nature's fairest word, wherein each ...
John KeatsAmongst other noble featsDrank off a soup-tureenFull of the true, the blushful Hippocrene.(Edmund Clerihew Bentley)
Filled is Life's goblet to the brim; And though my eyes with tears are dim, I see its sparkling bubbles ...
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some ...
'Tis true, Idoloclastes Satyrane ! (So call him, for so mingling blame with praise, And smiles with anxious looks, his ...
O constellations of the early night, That sparkled brighter as the twilight died, And made the darkness glorious! I have ...
The Farmer's Goose, who in the Stubble, Has fed without Restraint, or Trouble; Grown fat with Corn and Sitting still, ...
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