Crossed Threads (Helen Hunt Jackson Poem)
The silken threads by viewless spinners spun, Which float so idly on the summer air, And help to make each ...
The silken threads by viewless spinners spun, Which float so idly on the summer air, And help to make each ...
Wise men in their bad hours have envied The little people making merry like grasshoppers In spots of sunlight, hardly ...
Even with insects-- some can sing, some can't. (Kobayashi Issa)
Is this everything now, the quick delusions of flowers, And the down colors of the bright summer meadow, The soft ...
as the landscape falls away the hawthorn in its gnarly fashion is content to stand alone berries (the very tint ...
IN the deepest nights of Winter To the Muses kind oft cried I: "Not a ray of morn is gleaming, ...
THESE are the most singular of all the Poems of Goethe, and to many will appear so wild and fantastic, ...
Out in the orchard the bright azure sky not insects any longer save for the bees among the droplings the ...
You have obey'd, you WINDS, that must fulfill The Great Disposer's righteous Will; Throughout the Land, unlimited you flew, Nor ...
Having a wheel and four legs of its own Has never availed the cumbersome grindstone To get it anywhere that ...
1/ Genius is not a generous thing In return it charges more interest than any amount of royalties can cover ...
A Fragment of a Turkish Tale The tale which these disjointed fragments present, is founded upon circumstances now less common ...
I. You're my friend: I was the man the Duke spoke to; I helped the Duchess to cast off his ...
I The bitterness. the misery, the wretchedness of childhood Put me out of love with God. I can't believe in ...
[As a Tribute of Esteem and Admiration this Poem is inscribed to ROBERT MERRY, Esq. A. M. Member of the ...
Under a sky the color of pea soup she is looking at her work growing away there actively, thickly like ...
'Tis hard to say, if greater Want of Skill Appear in Writing or in Judging ill, But, of the two, ...
NOTHING so true as what you once let fall, "Most Women have no Characters at all." Matter too soft a ...
Pitch here the tent, while the old horse grazes: By the old hedge-side we'll halt a stage. It's nigh my ...
Grey drizzling mists the moorlands drape, Rain whitens the dead sea, From headland dim to sullen cape Grey sails creep ...
On he goes, the little one, Bud of the universe, Pediment of life. Setting off somewhere, apparently. Whither away, brisk ...
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