The Unknown Singer (Alexander Anderson Poems)
Far down within my heart she standsWith downcast eyes and folded hands,And singing as she sang that dayWithin a village ...
Far down within my heart she standsWith downcast eyes and folded hands,And singing as she sang that dayWithin a village ...
Of old, on her terrace at evening - not here - in some long-gone kingdom oh, folded close to her ...
She's pretty to walk with, And witty to talk with, And pleasant, too, to think on. Sir ...
Of old, on her terrace at evening …not here…in some long-gone kingdom O, folded close to her breast!… —our gaze ...
What charm is yours, you faded old-world tapestries, Of outworn, childish mysteries, Vague pageants woven on a web of dream! ...
Sons of the South, awake! arise! Sons of the South, and do. Banish from under your bonny skies Those old-world ...
No church-bell rings them from the Track, No pulpit lights theirblindness-- 'Tis hardship, drought, and homelessness That teach those Bushmen ...
We've drunk to the Queen -- God bless her! -- We've drunk to our mothers' land; We've drunk to our ...
Cherry-ripe: dark sweet burlats, scarlet reverchons firm-fleshed and tart in the mouth bigarreaux, peach-and-white napoléons as the harvest moves north ...
There is fog upon the river, there is mirk upon the town; You can hear the groping ferries as they ...
Glion?--Ah, twenty years, it cuts All meaning from a name! White houses prank where once were huts. Glion, but not ...
Through Alpine meadows soft-suffused With rain, where thick the crocus blows, Past the dark forges long disused, The mule-track from ...
Hark! ah, the nightingale- The tawny-throated! Hark, from that moonlit cedar what a burst! What triumph! hark!-what pain! O wanderer ...
Like burnt-out torches by a sick man's bed Gaunt cypress-trees stand round the sun-bleached stone; Here doth the little night-owl ...
Now, scarce three paces measured from the mound, We stumbled on a stationary voice, And 'Stand, who goes?' 'Two from ...
Inside this northern summer's fold The fields are full of naked gold, Broadcast from heaven on lands it loves; The ...
Am I not he that hath made thee and begotten thee, I, God, the spirit of man? Wherefore now these ...
Here in the midnight, where the dark mainland and island Shadows mingle in shadow deeper, profounder, Sing we the hymns ...
SHALL I strew on thee rose or rue or laurel, Brother, on this that was the veil of thee? Or ...
THERE in her old-world garden smiles A symbol of the world's desire, Striving with quaint and lovely wiles To bind ...
A year or two, and grey Euripides, And Horace and a Lydia or so, And Euclid and the brush of ...
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