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 ...
Resolve Me, Cloe, what is This:Or forfeit me One precious Kiss.'Tis the first Off-spring of the Graces;Bears diff'rent Forms in ...
Rouse up thy self, my gentle Muse,Though now our green conceits be gray,And yet once more do not refuseTo take ...
_He saves the sheep, the goats he doth not save._ So rang Tertullian's sentence, on the side Of that unpitying Phrygian Sect ...
(Kind Gentlemen) Souldiers, or Clarkes, or both My Muse as gentle greetes you well (in troth) And tels you shee can't wooe ...
Resplendent as on that great morn he rose, When, from the inmost depth of heaven's immense, The bright eternal solitude ...
IThe sister Hours in circles linked,Daughters of men, of men the mates,Are gone on flow with the day that winked,With ...
Love, that long since hast to thy mighty powrePerforce subdude my poor captived hart,And raging now therein with restlesse stowre,Doest ...
PROLOGUE. Woe! to the just occasion that compels My verse to satire, when my soul rebels; Must I, unskill'd her ...
Musicke. Phobus gave me my voyce, which pleasant Thrushes ...
O Thou, the Nymph with placid eye!O seldom found, yet ever nigh! Receive my temperate vow:Not all the ...
When he, that shepherd false, 'neath Phrygian sails, Carried his hostess Helen o'er the seas,In fitful slumber Nereus hush'd the ...
IREND, rend thine hair, Cassandra: he will go.Yea, rend thy garments, wring thine hands, and cryFrom Troy still towered to ...
SHE hath the apple in her hand for thee,Yet almost in her heart would hold it back;She muses, with her ...
The Phrygian rock that braves the storm Was once a weeping matron's form; And Procne, hapless, frantic maid, ...
Now spring is bringing back the warmer days,Now the rage of the equinoctial skyFalls silent in Zephyr's pleasant breezes.Catullus, leave ...
O Hymen king. Hymen, O Hymen king, what bitter thing is this? what shaft, tearing my heart? what scar, what ...
How changed is here each spot man makes or fills! In the two Hinkseys nothing keeps the same; The village ...
Apollo's wrath to man the dreadful spring Of ills innum'rous, tuneful goddess, sing! Thou who did'st first th' ideal pencil ...
1 Ye heavenly spirits, whose ashy cinders lie Under deep ruins, with huge walls opprest, But not your praise, the ...
In my youth's years, she loved me, I am sure. The flute of seven pipes she gave in my tenure ...
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