The Muses Threnodie: Fourth Muse (Henry Adamson Poems)
This time our boat passing too nigh the land,The whirling stream did make her run on sand;Aluif, we cry'd, but ...
This time our boat passing too nigh the land,The whirling stream did make her run on sand;Aluif, we cry'd, but ...
A score of years had come and goneSince the Pilgrims landed on Plymouth stone,When Captain Underhill, bearing scarsFrom Indian ambush ...
UNDER the great hill sloping bareTo cove and meadow and Common lot,In his council chamber and oaken chair,Sat the worshipful ...
Tell me ye King-craft of to-day Where is Athens, who made men free; Then sank into stupor by the way, ...
1 O TAKE my hand, Walt Whitman! Such gliding wonders! such sights and sounds! Such join'd unended links, each hook'd ...
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