My Garden is a Pleasant Place (Louise Driscoll Poems)
My Garden is a pleasant placeOf sun glory and leaf grace.There is an ancient cherry treeWhere yellow warblers sing to ...
My Garden is a pleasant placeOf sun glory and leaf grace.There is an ancient cherry treeWhere yellow warblers sing to ...
-What did you do last night Hippolyta?The wine was roaring in the rusty canals-I don't respond to shameless whistlesSo give ...
The house in Broad Street, red brick, with nine rooms the weedgrown graveyard with its rows of tombs the jail ...
I don't remember exactly when Budberg died, it was either two years ago or three. The same ...
O Child beside the Waterfallwhat songs without a wordrise from those waters like the callonly a heart has heard-the Joy, ...
Talking with my beloved in New York I stood at the outdoor public telephone in Mexican sunlight, in my purple ...
About suffering, about adoration, the old masters Disagree. When someone suffers, no one else eats Or walks or opens the ...
The slow overture of rain, each drop breaking without breaking into the next, describes the unrelenting, syncopated mind. Not unlike ...
Reaching, cupping the water, the air, cool after the shower tempting hummingbirds petals curled to lure and entice lavender, pastel ...
No one's timetable governed our steps up with the first light long before the sun rose over the slate blue ...
Koening knew now there was no one on the river. Entering its brown mouth choking with lilies and curtained with ...
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