A Treatise On Poetry: IV Natura (Czeslaw Milosz Poems)
Pennsylvania, 1948-1949The garden of Nature opens. The grass at the threshold is green. And an almond tree begins to bloom. ...
Pennsylvania, 1948-1949The garden of Nature opens. The grass at the threshold is green. And an almond tree begins to bloom. ...
May 28th, 1879Joy to Ierne, joy,This day a deathless crown is won,Her child of song, her glorious son,Her minstrel boyAttains ...
The nations are all calling To and fro, from strand to strand;Uniting in one army The slaves of ...
This is the song of the wind as it cameTossing the flags of the nations to flame: _I am ...
Lo! Winter drives his horrors round; Wide o'er the rugged soil they fly; In their cold ...
Good servant Mollberg, what's happened to thee, Whom without coat and hatless I see? ...
I've just been elected to Parliament,At Westminster I'm the big cheese,I'm also a Knight of the Garter, it's right In ...
Doughty Budrys the old, Lithuanian bold,He has summoned his lusty sons three."Your chargers stand idle, now saddle and bridleAnd out ...
Oh, Righteous Cause, for which we fought, And for which thousands died,We glory in it as we ought ...
In spring's own country, where the gardens blow,You faded, tender rose! For hours now past,Like butterflies departing, on you're castThe ...
Let America be America again. Let it be the dream it used to be. Let it be the pioneer on ...
Though loth to grieve The evil time's sole patriot, I cannot leave My buried thought For the priest's cant, Or ...
KIND Sir, I've read your paper through, And faith, to me, 'twas really new! How guessed ye, Sir, what maist ...
The trumpets of the four winds of the world From the ends of the earth blow battle; the night heaves, ...
POLAND, France, Judea ran in her veins, Singing to Paris for bread, singing to Gotham in a fizz at the ...
WANDERING oversea dreamer, Hunting and hoarse, Oh daughter and mother, Oh daughter of ashes and mother of blood, Child of ...
The Sunday lamb cracks in its fat. The fat Sacrifices its opacity. . . . A window, holy gold. The ...
Somebody is shooting at something in our town -- A dull pom, pom in the Sunday street. Jealousy can open ...
Within this sober Frame expect Work of no Forrain Architect; That unto Caves the Quarries drew, And Forrests did to ...
I bought a dollar and a half's worth of small red potatoes, took them home, boiled them in their jackets ...
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