The Moat (Mathilde Blind Poems)
AROUND this lichened home of hoary peace, Invulnerable in its glassy moat, A breath of ghostly summers seems to floatAnd murmur mid ...
AROUND this lichened home of hoary peace, Invulnerable in its glassy moat, A breath of ghostly summers seems to floatAnd murmur mid ...
Had I the wondrous magic to investIdeal forms in colour, I would paintThee, winter, first, by an ideal saintDeep in ...
I wonder if the spell, the mystery,That like a haze about your silence clings,Moulding your void until we seem to ...
(To have been read before the statue of Lafayette and Washington inParis, on Decoration Day, May 30, 1916.) Ay, it ...
I (_Before He Comes_) Sweet under swooning blue and mellow mist September waves of forest overflow The hills with crimson, ...
WHERE the dim paths wind and creep Down past dark and ghostly landsLost this many a year in sleep, Still ...
THEY lie unwatched, in waste and vacant places,In sombre bush or wind-swept tussock spaces,Where seldom human treadAnd never human trace ...
Girded by wastes of sounding foam, Slumbers unseen the fruitful isle;Day in, day out, the cloudless dome Looks down with ...
I This is the hill of Maeve, the queen, A mighty bulwark of gray-green Whereon was set, by hands unknown, ...
THE day was wild with wind and rain, One grey wrapped sky and sea and shore, It seemed ...
All the moon-shed nights are over, And the days of gray and dun; There is neither may nor clover, ...
THERE'S a grey old church on a wind-swept hill Where three bent yew trees cower, The gipsy roses ...
Another prospect pleased the builder's eye, And Fashion tenanted (where Fashion wanes) Here in the sorrowful suburban lanes When first ...
What charm is yours, you faded old-world tapestries, Of outworn, childish mysteries, Vague pageants woven on a web of dream! ...
Dear to my heart are the ancestral dwellings of America, Dearer than if they were haunted by ghosts of royal ...
We used to picnic where the thrift Grew deep and tufted to the edge; We saw the yellow foam flakes ...
for Brenda Williams The dawn cracked with ice, with fire grumbling in the grate, With ire in the homes we ...
I Ay, it is fitting on this holiday, Commemorative of our soldier dead, When -- with sweet flowers of our ...
Another prospect pleased the builder's eye, And Fashion tenanted (where Fashion wanes) Here in the sorrowful suburban lanes When first ...
I know a place for loitering feet Deep in the valley where the breeze Makes melody in lichened boughs, And ...
I A wide-spring meadow in a rosy dawn Bedropt with virgin buds; an orient sky Fleeced with a dappled cloud ...
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