The Ship of Death (David Herbert Lawrence Poem)
I Now it is autumn and the falling fruit and the long journey towards oblivion. The apples falling like great ...
I Now it is autumn and the falling fruit and the long journey towards oblivion. The apples falling like great ...
Often I think of the beautiful town That is seated by the sea; Often in thought go up and down ...
Spoken by Miss Ada Rehan at the Lyceum Theatre, July 23, 1890, at a performance on behalf of Lady Jeune's ...
Droning a drowsy syncopated tune, Rocking back and forth to a mellow croon, I heard a Negro play. Down on ...
We both have our hands to give Take mine I shall lead you afar I have lived several times my ...
'O WHICH is the last rose?' A blossom of no name. At midnight the snow came; At daybreak a vast ...
Bhaskar Roy Barman He knew for sure he was going to succumb to the eminence grise of an alien thoudea ...
Sence fair Jessica hez left us Seems ez ef she hed bereft us, When she went, o' half o' livin'; ...
NOT in scorn do I reprove thee, Not in pride thy vows I waive, But, believe, I could not love ...
'Number four-the girl who died on the table- The girl with golden hair-' The purpling body lies on the polished ...
Midnight; bells toll, and along the cloud-high towers The golden lights go out . . . The yellow windows darken, ...
Already I am no longer looked at with lechery or love. My daughters and sons have put me away with ...
I Partly to think, more to be left alone, George Annandale said something to his friends- A word or two, ...
In the rectory garden on his evening walk Paced brisk Father Shawn. A cold day, a sodden one it was ...
You said you would kill it this morning. Do not kill it. It startles me still, The jut of that ...
And then went down to the ship, Set keel to breakers, forth on the godly sea, and We set up ...
What passing-bells for these who die as cattle? Only the monstrous anger of the guns. Only the stuttering rifles' rapid ...
At midnight, in the month of June, I stand beneath the mystic moon. An opiate vapor, dewy, dim, Exhales from ...
The misery is greater, as I live! To know her flesh so pure, so keen her sense, That she does ...
[The late Mr. Jonathan Swift Somers, laureate of Spoon River, planned The Spooniad as an epic in twenty-four books, but ...
UNDER THE BLESSING OF YOUR PSYCHE WINGS Though I have found you llke a snow-drop pale, On sunny days have ...
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