1777 (Amy Lowell Poem)
I The Trumpet-Vine Arbour The throats of the little red trumpet-flowers are wide open, And the clangour of brass beats ...
I The Trumpet-Vine Arbour The throats of the little red trumpet-flowers are wide open, And the clangour of brass beats ...
The fields are fair in autumn yet, and the sun's still shining there, But we bow our heads and we ...
1914-18 The Garden called Gethsemane In Picardy it was, And there the people came to see The English soldiers pass. ...
There are who lord it o'er their fellow-men With most prevailing tinsel: who unpen Their baaing vanities, to browse away ...
We sat in the belly of the aeroplane and held out for sirens to swerve across the grass; men with ...
The shell of objects inwardly consumed Will stand, till some convulsive wind awakes; Such sense hath Fire to waste the ...
'My father still reads the dictionary every day. He says your life depends on your power to master words.' Arthur ...
Cloud-puffball, torn tufts, tossed pillows ' flaunt forth, then chevy on an air- built thoroughfare: heaven-roysterers, in gay-gangs ' they ...
Patience, hard thing! the hard thing but to pray, But bid for, Patience is! Patience who asks Wants war, wants ...
O masks and metamorphoses of Ahab, Native Son I The icy evil that struck his father down and ravished his ...
Letting down our guard stripping away our masks standing before our neighbors humble, as a servant Open to God's calling ...
something holy, a presence the healing, the power in the silence of listening being with someone totally there offering them ...
The illusion of something unique that we somehow are worthy that more than grace is at play in bringing us ...
Like masks of clay only the differences between us false grounds to claim another unworthy when we all carry our ...
The cold stones warmed by the sun the lichen and moss calling me to touch the masks of death the ...
In dying to ourselves, peeling our masks off, bare, raw, pure authentic emotion sharing with our brothers, our sisters True ...
Nocturnal marauders in my yard Villains of the woods, with masks to boot Out in my land looking for food ...
Grown child, where is your laughter? Do you laugh, smile, cheer in the song of the wind, the leap of ...
I often pause to wonder of the two sides of the man from the Balkans who graced my life with ...
There were only a few of them In all the earth Each one thought he was alone They sang, they ...
The south-wind brings Life, sunshine, and desire, And on every mount and meadow Breathes aromatic fire, But over the dead ...
Trees in groves, Kine in droves, In ocean sport the scaly herds, Wedge-like cleave the air the birds, To northern ...
I can love both fair and brown, Her whom abundance melts, and her whom want betrays, Her who loves loneness ...
Lo! I am come to autumn, When all the leaves are gold; Grey hairs and golden leaves cry out The ...
Christmass is come and every hearth Makes room to give him welcome now Een want will dry its tears in ...
A closed window looks down on a dirty courtyard, and black people call across or scream or walk across defying ...
in these red labyrinths of London I find that I have chosen the strangest of all callings, save that, in ...
I Oh Galuppi, Baldassaro, this is very sad to find! I can hardly misconceive you; it would prove me deaf ...
From whence arrived the praying mantis? From outer space, or lost Atlantis? glimpse the grin, green metal mug at masks ...
I I have loved England, dearly and deeply, Since that first morning, shining and pure, The white cliffs of Dover ...
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