Isabella; Or, The Pot Of Basil: A Story From Boccaccio (John Keats Poems)
I.Fair Isabel, poor simple Isabel!Lorenzo, a young palmer in Love's eye!They could not in the self-same mansion dwellWithout some stir ...
I.Fair Isabel, poor simple Isabel!Lorenzo, a young palmer in Love's eye!They could not in the self-same mansion dwellWithout some stir ...
I stood tip-toe upon a little hill, The air was cooling, and so very still, That the sweet buds which with a ...
PRONE where maples widely spreadI watch the far blue overhead,Where little pillowy clouds ariseFrom naught to die before my eyes;Within ...
The dark and pillowy cloud, the sallow trees, Seem o'er the ruins of the year to mourn;And, cold and ...
I. Fair Isabel, poor simple Isabel! Lorenzo, a young palmer in Love's eye! They could not in the self-same mansion ...
Now Time's Andromeda on this rock rude, With not her either beauty's equal or Her injury's, looks off by both ...
The dark and pillowy cloud, the sallow trees, Seem o'er the ruins of the year to mourn; And, cold and ...
The Spanish women don't wear slacks Because their hips are too enormous. 'Tis true each bulbous bosom lacks No inspiration ...
For one brief golden moment rare like wine, The gracious city swept across the line; Oblivious of the color of ...
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