Unspoken Language (Lydia Howard Huntley Sigourney Poems)
LANGUAGE is slow. The mastery of wantsDoth teach it to the infant, drop by drop,As brooklets gather.Years of studious toilUnfold ...
LANGUAGE is slow. The mastery of wantsDoth teach it to the infant, drop by drop,As brooklets gather.Years of studious toilUnfold ...
Ah me! How clearly they come back -Those golden days of long ago,When down the droughty Bogan trackTom came with ...
THE NIGHT descends in glory, and adown the purple west The young moon, like a crescent skiff, upon some fairy ...
Child of an alien creed, thy heavier sorrows bewailing, Weep not-for ah! more pure-more fair-none with thee may compare them: ...
The barley grass was two feet high, the billabongs were full,The brolgas danced a minuet, the world seemed made of ...
© 2020 Inspirational Stories