The Humming Bird (Maurice Thompson Poems)
Poised in a sheeny mistOf the dust of bloom,Clasped to the poppy's breast and kissed,Baptized in violet perfumeFrom foot to ...
Poised in a sheeny mistOf the dust of bloom,Clasped to the poppy's breast and kissed,Baptized in violet perfumeFrom foot to ...
O August, brown and sleepy-eyed and mellow,Cinctured with vines and straying here and there,And permeating all the odorous airWith an ...
Companionable, sae near,Sae close confidin', neither removed-Less than imagination, more than fancy;For imagination is inflamed-And fancy but beckons.Companionable; builded of ...
IYoung laughters, and my music! Aye till now The voice can reach no blending minors near; ...
When I have a house . . . as I sometime may . . .I'll suit my fancy in every ...
Know you him, O, him, Who lived in those days? He wore a gay coat, And he stepped along, jauntily, ...
So when the verdure of his life was shed, With all the grace of ripened manlihead, And on his locks, ...
There on the quay sobbed Bones, A.B., And he took me by the hand.Says he to me, "I've quit the ...
IPhyllidula and the Spoils of GouvernetWhere, Lady, are the daysWhen you could go out in a hired hansomWithout footmen and ...
1 These seven houses have learned to face one another, But not at the expected angles. Those silly brown lumps, ...
There's a twinkle in her eye,O, so merry! O, so sly!That you never see the wrinkles in her face; She's ...
All that's not love is the dearth of my days, The leaves of the volume with rubric unwrit, The temple ...
A GIRL, who has so many wilful ways She would have caused Job's patience to forsake him; Yet is so ...
I long for the streets but the Lord knoweth best, For there I am never a saint; There are lovable ...
'Twas at that hour of beauty when the setting sun squandereth his cloudy bed with rosy hues, to flood his ...
(Halted around the fire by night, after moon-set, they sing this beneath the trees.) What light of unremembered skies Hast ...
some people never go crazy. me, sometimes I'll lie down behind the couch for 3 or 4 days. they'll find ...
All that's not love is the dearth of my days, The leaves of the volume with rubric unwrit, The temple ...
So when the verdure of his life was shed, With all the grace of ripened manlihead, And on his locks, ...
The riches of the poet are equal to his poetry His power is his left hand It is idle weak ...
Oft seems the Time a market-town Where many merchant-spirits meet Who up and down and up and down Cry out ...
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