The Coal Picker (Amy Lowell Poem)
He perches in the slime, inert, Bedaubed with iridescent dirt. The oil upon the puddles dries To colours like a ...
He perches in the slime, inert, Bedaubed with iridescent dirt. The oil upon the puddles dries To colours like a ...
Sea Shell, Sea Shell, Sing me a song, O Please! A song of ships, and sailor men, And parrots, and ...
OH, England is a pleasant place for them that 's rich and high; But England is a cruel place for ...
There was Rundle, Station Master, An' Beazeley of the Rail, An' 'Ackman, Commissariat, An' Donkin' o' the Jail; An' Blake, ...
Dim dawn behind the tamerisks -- the sky is saffron-yellow -- As the women in the village grind the corn, ...
My God, I heard this day, That none doth build a stately habitation, But he that means to dwell therein. ...
A storm was coming, that was why it was dark. The wind was blowing the fronds of the palm trees ...
Oh, a wonderful horse is the Fly-Away Horse - Perhaps you have seen him before; Perhaps, while you slept, his ...
I The bitterness. the misery, the wretchedness of childhood Put me out of love with God. I can't believe in ...
Your hooves have stamped at the black margin of the wood, Even where horrible green parrots call and swing. My ...
O MAGNET-SOUTH! O glistening, perfumed South! My South! O quick mettle, rich blood, impulse, and love! Good and evil! O ...
What I was doing with my white teeth exposed like that on the side of the road I don't know, ...
No matter what life you lead the virgin is a lovely number: cheeks as fragile as cigarette paper, arms and ...
I watched one day a parrot grey - 'twas in a barber shop. "Cuckold!" he cried, until I sighed: "You ...
'Tis strange that in a land so strong So strong and bold in mighty youth, We have no poet's voice ...
Oh, the weary, weary journey on the trek, day after day, With sun above and silent veldt below; And our ...
Part 1 WHAT dire Offence from am'rous Causes springs, What mighty Contests rise from trivial Things, I sing -- This ...
But anxious cares the pensive nymph oppress'd, And secret passions labour'd in her breast. Not youthful kings in battle seiz'd ...
The boys had come back from the races All silent and down on their luck; They'd backed 'em, straight out ...
She LIKE a serpent to the calling voice of flutes, Glides my heart into thy fingers, O my Love! Where ...
A Fantasy, dedicated to the little poet Alice Oliver Henderson, ten years old. The Fantasy shows how tiger-hearts are the ...
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