Sonnet 04 (Alan Seeger Poems)
If I was drawn here from a distant place, 'Twas not to pray nor hear our friend's address, But, gazing ...
If I was drawn here from a distant place, 'Twas not to pray nor hear our friend's address, But, gazing ...
First Movement Thin-voiced, nasal pipes Drawing sound out and out Until it is a screeching thread, Sharp and cutting, sharp ...
An old man whose black face shines golden-brown as wet pebbles under the streetlamp, is walking two mongrel dogs of ...
(From the French of Emile Verhaeren) He who walks through the meadows of Champagne At noon in Fall, when leaves ...
BOOK I Deep in the shady sadness of a vale Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn, Far from ...
Gaunt in gloom, The pale stars their torches, Enshrouded, wave. Ghostfires from heaven's far verges faint illume, Arches on soaring ...
The church flings forth a battled shade Over the moon-blanched sward: The church; my gift; whereto I paid My all ...
The chancel, the nave full with new members entering our family the congregation growing A noisy reception commotion a happy ...
Before the chancel, the pulpit, in the front of the nave, preaching a message of love of the freedom to ...
It's a ruling from the field of pain (devoid of antique nave, a judgement process aptly named 'benefit of doubt'); ...
THE PROLOGUE. The Sompnour in his stirrups high he stood, Upon this Friar his hearte was so wood,* *furious That ...
The castle clock had tolled midnight: With mattock and with spade, And silent, by the torches' light, His corse in ...
An imaginary composer.] I. Hist, but a word, fair and soft! Forth and be judged, Master Hugues! Answer the question ...
I. The morn when first it thunders in March, The eel in the pond gives a leap, they say: As ...
Per me si va ne la citt? dolente, per me si va ne l'etterno dolore, per me si va tra ...
Through Alpine meadows soft-suffused With rain, where thick the crocus blows, Past the dark forges long disused, The mule-track from ...
I fellowed sleep who kissed me in the brain, Let fall the tear of time; the sleeper's eye, Shifting to ...
If I was drawn here from a distant place, 'Twas not to pray nor hear our friend's address, But, gazing ...
He faints with hope and fear. It is the hour. Distant, across the thundering organ-swell, In sweet discord from the ...
Poetry is the supreme fiction, madame. Take the moral law and make a nave of it And from the nave ...
". . . with two other priests; the same night he died, and was buried by the shores of the ...
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