The Old Fools (Philip Larkin Poem)
What do they think has happened, the old fools, To make them like this? Do they somehow suppose It's more ...
What do they think has happened, the old fools, To make them like this? Do they somehow suppose It's more ...
In those days said Hiawatha, "Lo! how all things fade and perish! From the memory of the old men Pass ...
When the warm sun, that brings Seed-time and harvest, has returned again, 'T is sweet to visit the still wood, ...
I. Awake! for Morning in the Bowl of Night Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight: And ...
1 Awake! for Morning in the Bowl of Night Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight: And ...
Hark! 'tis the twanging horn! O'er yonder bridge, That with its wearisome but needful length Bestrides the wintry flood, in ...
Man-Moth: Newspaper misprint for "mammoth." Here, above, cracks in the buldings are filled with battered moonlight. The whole shadow of ...
The moon in the bureau mirror looks out a million miles (and perhaps with pride, at herself, but she never, ...
Earliest morning, switching all the tracks that cross the sky from cinder star to star, coupling the ends of streets ...
FINTRY, my stay in wordly strife, Friend o' my muse, friend o' my life, Are ye as idle's I am? ...
Not that it was beautiful, but that, in the end, there was a certain sense of order there; something worth ...
I know a village in a far-off land Where from a sunny, mountain-girdled plain With tinted walls a space on ...
Not that it was beautiful, but that, in the end, there was a certain sense of order there; something worth ...
CALL it to mind, O my love. Dear were your eyes as the day, Bright as the day and the ...
Last night my soul cried, "O exalted sphere of Heaven, you hang indeed inverted, with flames in your belly. "Without ...
The time has come for us to become madmen in your chain, to burst our bonds and become estranged from ...
Est brevitate opus, ut currat sententia, neu se Impediat verbis lassas onerantibus aures: Et sermone opus est modo tristi, saepe ...
The paddocks shave black with a foam of smoke that stays, welling out of red-black wounds. In the white of ...
Full faith I have she holds that rarest gift To beauty, Common Sense. To see her lie With her fair ...
Within this sober Frame expect Work of no Forrain Architect; That unto Caves the Quarries drew, And Forrests did to ...
Observe the clasped hands! Are they hands of farewell or greeting, Hands that I helped or hands that helped me? ...
© 2020 Inspirational Stories