Symphonies (Esther Popel Poems)
I The red-gold sun Sinking to rest At day's end, Tucking under its chin The fleecy down comforter That men ...
I The red-gold sun Sinking to rest At day's end, Tucking under its chin The fleecy down comforter That men ...
Half a score o' sailormen that want to sail once more,Cruising round the waterside with the Peter at the fore!Half ...
Voltaire, D'Alembert, and Dider?t.Three spirits linking made a triple mind, Then scorning customs shook the stars apart, And but with ...
I lay amid the wreck of a rude time, When men were rough as the huge beams they laid For ...
The flower unfolds its dawning cup, And the young sun drinks the star-dews up, At eve it droops with the ...
What voice is that which o'er the ocean,Through what is lit and what obscure no less,Night's coruscations and its darknesses,Still ...
They say the sea is cold, but the sea contains the hottest blood of all, and the wildest, the most ...
First Movement Thin-voiced, nasal pipes Drawing sound out and out Until it is a screeching thread, Sharp and cutting, sharp ...
As our mother the Frigate, bepainted and fine, Made play for her bully the Ship of the Line; So we, ...
"Gabble-gabble,. brethren,. gabble-gabble!" My window frames forest and heather. I hardly hear the tuneful babble, Not knowing nor much caring ...
If I could write a sermon on Ruth What words would I use, what would I say? to tell the ...
I The cloud my bed is tinged with blood and foam. The vault yet blazes with the sun Writhing above ...
I The cloud my bed is tinged with blood and foam. The vault yet blazes with the sun Writhing above ...
In the outskirts of the village On the river's winding shores Stand the Occidental plane-trees, Stand the ancient sycamores. One ...
we walk through a calligraphy of hats slicing off foreheads ace-deuce cocked, they slant, razor sharp, clean through imagination, our ...
How gracefully, O man, with thy palm-bough, Upon the waning century standest thou, In proud and noble manhood's prime, With ...
I drink my fill of foamy ale I sing a song, I tell a tale, I play the fiddle; My ...
to Robert Hass and in memory of Elliot Gilbert Slow dulcimer, gavotte and bow, in autumn, Bashõ and his friends ...
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten ...
(November, 1863) A kindling impulse seized the host Inspired by heaven's elastic air; Their hearts outran their General's plan, Though ...
The moonlight breaks upon the city's domes, And falls along cemented steel and stone, Upon the grayness of a million ...
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