Pickthorn Manor (Amy Lowell Poem)
I How fresh the Dartle's little waves that day! A steely silver, underlined with blue, And flashing where the round ...
I How fresh the Dartle's little waves that day! A steely silver, underlined with blue, And flashing where the round ...
A music-stand of crimson lacquer, long since brought In some fast clipper-ship from China, quaintly wrought With bossed and carven ...
The world has had enough of bards who wish that they were dead, 'Tis time the people passed a law ...
Come, leave the loathed stage, And the more loathsome age; Where pride and impudence, in faction knit, Usurp the chair ...
When the wasting embers redden the chimney-breast, And Life's bare pathway looms like a desert track to me, And from ...
Prate, ye who will, of so-called charms you find across the sea-- The land of stoves and sunshine is good ...
In pious times, ere priest-craft did begin, Before polygamy was made a sin; When man, on many, multipli'd his kind, ...
When Stiivoren town was in its prime And queened the Zuyder Zee, Its ships went out to every clime With ...
THE PROLOGUE. WHEN folk had laughed all at this nice case Of Absolon and Hendy Nicholas, Diverse folk diversely they ...
Nothing grows except the grass. Nothing leaps into sight except some stone and what the stone contains and protects. Here, ...
Vanity, saith the preacher, vanity! Draw round my bed: is Anselm keeping back? Nephews -- sons mine -- ah God, ...
THE SIMPLE Bard, rough at the rustic plough, Learning his tuneful trade from ev'ry bough; The chanting linnet, or the ...
Through eyelet holes I watched the crowd Rain of confetti fling; Their joy is lush, their laughter loud, For Carnival ...
Me and Ed and a stretcher Out on the nootral ground. (If there's one dead corpse, I'll betcher There's a ...
GUNS on the battle lines have pounded now a year between Brussels and Paris. And, William Morris, when I read ...
Conrad, Conrad, aren't you old To sit so late in your mouldy garden? And I think Conrad knows it well, ...
When you entered the workshop, I was already here. How many statues, and torsos, and heads ! Like remains of ...
This, then, is she, My mother as she looked at seventeen, When she first met my father. Young incredibly, Younger ...
I. A NEGRO SERMON:-SIMON LEGREE (To be read in your own variety of negro dialect.) Legree's big house was white ...
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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