Bring, In This Timeless Grave To Throw (A. E. Housman Poem)
XLVI Bring, in this timeless grave to throw No cypress, sombre on the snow; Snap not from the bitter yew ...
XLVI Bring, in this timeless grave to throw No cypress, sombre on the snow; Snap not from the bitter yew ...
upon the Unemployed Tom-garlanded with squat and surly steel Tom; then Tom's fallowbootfellow piles pick By him and rips out ...
Some candle clear burns somewhere I come by. I muse at how its being puts blissful back With yellowy moisture ...
I caught this morning morning's minion, king- dom of daylight's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding Of the rolling level ...
My father worked with a horse-plough, His shoulders globed like a full sail strung Between the shafts and the furrow. ...
Prate, ye who will, of so-called charms you find across the sea-- The land of stoves and sunshine is good ...
When a friend calls to me from the road And slows his horse to a meaning walk, I don't stand ...
Long, long, long the trail Through the brooding forest-gloom, Down the shadowy, lonely vale Into silence, like a room Where ...
At dawn I dreamed of wispy clouds, I had the time to wield and watched the regimented lines of cirrus ...
Time out of mind I have stood Fronting the frost and the sun, That the dream of the world might ...
I like the old house tolerably well, Where I must dwell Like a familiar gnome; And yet I never shall ...
Come queen of months in company Wi all thy merry minstrelsy The restless cuckoo absent long And twittering swallows chimney ...
To him who in the love of nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language; for ...
Although the Preacher be a bore, The Atheist is even more. I ain't religious worth a damn; My views are ...
Why am I full of joy although It drizzles on the links? Why am I buying Veuve Cliquot, And setting ...
All erasure of pain is like the contrary of dust that weighs dark in my lungs when I am feckless ...
Wee falsely think it due unto our friends, That we should grieve for their too early ends: He that surveys ...
(published on BLINKING EYE, http://www.blinking-eye.co.uk/writer/padel2.html ) Then spoke the thunder, shattering the looming blackness of our national life. The rumble ...
When I was dead, my spirit turned To seek the much-frequented house: I passed the door, and saw my friends ...
I asked the old Negro, "What is that bird that sings so well?" He answered: "That is the Rachel-Jane." "Hasn't ...
A Story of Christmas Eve. Strange that the termagant winds should scold The Christmas Eve so bitterly! But Wife, and ...
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