The Blackbird (Frederick Tennyson Poems)
How sweet the harmonies of afternoon:The Blackbird sings along the sunny breezeHis ancient song of leaves, and summer boon;Rich breath ...
How sweet the harmonies of afternoon:The Blackbird sings along the sunny breezeHis ancient song of leaves, and summer boon;Rich breath ...
Now hath the summer reached her golden close,And, lost amid her corn-fields, bright of soul,Scarcely perceives from her divine reposeHow ...
(Written after hearing a line of Keats repeated by a passing strangerunder the palms of Southern California.)Under the palms of ...
Delicate mother Kangaroo Sitting up there rabbit-wise, but huge, plump-weighted, And lifting her beautiful slender face, oh! so much more ...
King of all the old town, gaoler, censor, too,Bane of heavy sinners doing things they shouldn't do, Terror of ...
Quem das finem, rex magne, dolorum?Where we went in the boat was a long bayA slingshot wide, walled in by ...
From the dark gorge, where burns the morning star, I hear the glacier river rattling onAnd sweeping o'er his ice-ploughed ...
After a Print by George Cruikshank It was a gusty night, With the wind booming, and swooping, Looping round corners, ...
The old Jimmy Woodser comes into the bar Unwelcomed, unnoticed, unknown, Too old and too odd to be drunk with, ...
I He would drink by himself And raise a weathered thumb Towards the high shelf, Calling another rum And blackcurrant, ...
There's a palace in Florence, the world knows well, And a statue watches it from the square, And this story ...
There's a palace in Florence, the world knows well, And a statue watches it from the square, And this story ...
Although it is a cold evening, down by one of the fishhouses an old man sits netting, his net, in ...
From noiseful arms, and acts of prowess done In tournament or tilt, Sir Percivale, Whom Arthur and his knighthood called ...
In Mike Maloney's Nugget bar the hooch was flowin' free, An' One-eyed Mike was shakin' dice wi' Montreal Maree, An ...
'A man should write to please himself,' He proudly said. Well, see his poems on the shelf, Dusty, unread. When ...
When a man gits on his uppers in a hard-pan sort of town, An' he ain't got nothin' comin' an' ...
The humble garret where I dwell Is in that Quarter called the Latin; It isn't spacious -- truth to tell, ...
Children picking up our bones Will never know that these were once As quick as foxes on the hill; And ...
I rode one evening with Count Maddalo Upon the bank of land which breaks the flow Of Adria towards Venice: ...
PART ONE The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees, The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed ...
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