Black Kate (Henry Kendall Poems)
KATE, they say, is seventeen- Do not count her sweet, you know.Arms of her are rather lean- Ditto, calves and feet, you ...
KATE, they say, is seventeen- Do not count her sweet, you know.Arms of her are rather lean- Ditto, calves and feet, you ...
Blacknessis a title,is a preoccupation,is a commitment Blacksare to comprehend-and in which you areto perceive your Glory.The conscious shoutof all ...
Arthritic fingers of the olive treesAccuse the sun of ancient injuries.The shallows harden to an ochre crustWhile bony cattle huddle ...
O my mind,Worship the lotus feet of the Indestructible One!Whatever thou seest twixt earth and skyWill perish.Why undertake fasts and ...
Trembling Creation's omnipresent sun,Immanent Harmonist, Whose rhythms run.Alike where midge pursues his swift romance,Or grave stars cluster for their midnight ...
PreludesI The Rose of the World Lo, when the Lord made North and ...
There came a lonely Briton to the town, A solitary Briton with a ...
Johannes, son of Gilbert, born At Warren Magna, com. Wigorn., Till one-and-twenty simple John, Cast his eyes on Alison ; ...
In the neolithic age of our Australia, long ago,There dwelt a wise old chieftain, as you probably don't know;His royal ...
A Pantomime of BeadsEarth VoiceISsheThoughtless of life,A lover of imminent death,Nun SnowTouching her strings of white beads?Is it her unseen ...
This was its promise, held to faithfully:The early morning sun came in this wayUntil the angle of its saffron beamBetween ...
I knew that James Whistler was part of the Paris scene, but I was still surprised when I found the ...
I sat on a low stone wall Watching the blue blood of the azaleas Spatter on Haworth's cobbles. A seamless ...
MOORING POSTS 1 The mooring posts marked on the South Leeds map Of 1908 still line the Aire's side, huge, ...
I Half of the fellow father as he doubles His sea-sucked Adam in the hollow hulk, Half of the fellow ...
I know a village in a far-off land Where from a sunny, mountain-girdled plain With tinted walls a space on ...
Hot gold runs a winding stream on the inside of a green bowl. Yellow trickles in a fan figure, scatters ...
Whoever has no house now will never have one. Whoever is alone will stay alone Will sit, read, write long ...
The petals fall in the fountain, the orange-coloured rose-leaves, Their ochre clings to the stone. (Ezra Pound)
I pull the bed slowly open, I open the lips of the bed, get the stack of fresh underpants out ...
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