The Wayside Cross (John William Streets Poems)
Beneath a hawthorn bush, dying, he layUpon an orchard slope, a gentle hill;The silvery moonlight thro' the night did playUpon ...
Beneath a hawthorn bush, dying, he layUpon an orchard slope, a gentle hill;The silvery moonlight thro' the night did playUpon ...
Wot's in a name? — she sez . . . An' then she sighs, An' clasps 'er little 'ands, an' ...
He came into the bird-shop where I stood -- A hulking giant, monumental, grim,A paragon of muscular manhood. "What is ...
They don't believe in fairies,Those old folk wide and staid,They've never caught the glitterOf their wings in forest shade.For them ...
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