The Owl and The Bell (George MacDonald Poems)
Bing, Bim, Bang, Bome!Sang the Bell to himself in his house at home,High in the church-tower, lone and unseen,In a ...
Bing, Bim, Bang, Bome!Sang the Bell to himself in his house at home,High in the church-tower, lone and unseen,In a ...
Am I to become profligate as if I were a blonde? Or religiousas if I were French?Each time my heart ...
"Through two small windows sunshine slanted in To die upon the splintery schoolroom floor, While the October gusts whipped dirt ...
WHEN he pushed his bush of black hair off his brow:When she lifted her mop from her eyes, and screwed ...
The job will not make you, my boy; The job will not bring you to fameOr riches or honor ...
I reckon (said Dad) that the country's pestsIs this here wireless an' these here Tests.Up to the house and around ...
As I sat down by Saddle StreamTo bathe my dusty feet there,A boy was standing on the bridgeAny girl would ...
'My father still reads the dictionary every day. He says your life depends on your power to master words.' Arthur ...
A turn of the key The knob opens From the outside world To my home Daddy Ray! Daddy Ray! They ...
I stayed the night for shelter at a farm Behind the mountains, with a mother and son, Two old-believers. They ...
Thou hast nor youth nor age But as it were an after dinner sleep Dreaming of both. HERE I am, ...
The heavy mahogany door with its wrought-iron screen Shuts. And the sound is rich, sympathetic, discreet. The sun still shines ...
Here, where men's eyes were empty and as bright As the blank windows set in glaring brick, When the wind ...
ON WHICH THE JEWS WERE FORCED TO ATTEND AN ANNUAL CHRISTIAN SERMON IN ROME. [``Now was come about Holy-Cross Day, ...
NO more wine? then we'll push back chairs and talk. A final glass for me, though: cool, i' faith! We ...
Death is not the final word. Without ears, my father still listens, still shrugs his shoulders whenever I ask a ...
All actors look for them-the defining moments When what a character does is what he is. The script may say, ...
THE LANDS OF MY CHILDHOOD 1 I am leaving the holy city of Leeds For the last time for the ...
Four billion people on this earth, but my imagination is the way it's always been: bad with large numbers. It ...
After the whey-faced anonymity Of river-gums and scribbly-gums and bush, After the rubbing and the hit of brush, You come ...
As I sat down by Saddle Stream To bathe my dusty feet there, A boy was standing on the bridge ...
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