Children’s Games (William Carlos Williams Poems)
IThis is a schoolyardcrowdedwith childrenof all ages near a villageon a small streammeandering bywhere some boysare swimmingbare-assor climbing a tree ...
IThis is a schoolyardcrowdedwith childrenof all ages near a villageon a small streammeandering bywhere some boysare swimmingbare-assor climbing a tree ...
What reason have I to complain,Since in all times it has been plain,That great and weighty things must soon,Like jacks, ...
I wonder what the Jacks have got to laugh and laugh about.I'm sure the worms don't see the joke when ...
But in her Temple's last recess inclos'd, On Dulness' lap th' Anointed head repos'd. Him close she curtains round with ...
Through throats where many rivers meet, the curlews cry,Under the conceiving moon, on the high chalk hill,And there this night ...
I seldom get to hatin' men, nor had much cause to hate;To me, it just a foolish game to play, ...
Grey thrush was in the wattle tree, an', "Oh, you pretty dear!"He says in his allurin' way; an' I remarks, ...
Oh ! the shearing is all over, And the wool is coming down,And I mean to get a ...
Ven der Kaiser vould shtart some beeg shtunt, All dose shwells den soon come to de front, ...
Swiftly the changes come. Each daySees some lost beauty blown awayAnd some new touch of lovely graceCome into life to ...
Though some may yearn for titles great, and seek the frills of fame,I do not care to have an extra ...
I wonder what the Jacks have got to laugh and laugh about.I'm sure the worms don't see the joke when ...
ENTER Skald, moored in a punt, And jacks and tenches exeunt.(Dante Gabriel Rossetti)
(a) they seek to celebrate the word not to bring their knives out on a poem dissecting it to find ...
Whenas-(I love that "whenas" word- It shows I am a poet, too,) Q. Horace Flaccus gaily stirred The welkin with ...
And do not be indiscreet or unconventional. Play it safe. Listen here. I've never played it safe in spite of ...
I I see the boys of summer in their ruin Lay the gold tithings barren, Setting no store by harvest, ...
How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st, Upon that blessèd wood whose motion sounds With thy sweet fingers when ...
How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st, Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds With thy sweet fingers, when ...
A week later, I said to a friend: I don't think I could ever write about it. Maybe in a ...
My most respected comrades of posterity! Rummaging among these days' petrified crap, exploring the twilight of our times, you, possibly, ...
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