Sancta Maria, Succurre Miseris (Amy Lowell Poem)
Dear Virgin Mary, far away, Look down from Heaven while I pray. Open your golden casement high, And lean way ...
Dear Virgin Mary, far away, Look down from Heaven while I pray. Open your golden casement high, And lean way ...
I do not care to talk to you although Your speech evokes a thousand sympathies, And all my being's silent ...
At one the wind rose, And with it the noise Of the black poplars. Long since had the living By ...
That Whitsun, I was late getting away: Not till about One-twenty on the sunlit Saturday Did my three-quarters-empty train pull ...
What was is . . . since 1930; the boys in my old gang are senior partners. They start up ...
I do not think of you lying in the wet clay Of a Monaghan graveyard; I see You walking down ...
BOOK I Deep in the shady sadness of a vale Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn, Far from ...
For William and Emily Maxwell At this time of day One could hear the caulking irons sound Against the hulls ...
Far in a western brookland That bred me long ago The poplars stand and tremble By pools I used to ...
it's 1962 March 28th I'm sitting by the window on the Prague-Berlin train night is falling I never knew I ...
Pale beech and pine-tree blue, Set in one clay, Bough to bough cannot you Bide out your day? When the ...
The ocean heaves around us still With long and measured swell, The autumn gales our canvas fill, Our ship rides ...
The slow overture of rain, each drop breaking without breaking into the next, describes the unrelenting, syncopated mind. Not unlike ...
And the priestess spoke again and said: "Speak to us of Reason and Passion." And he answered saying: Your soul ...
So like a flower and a current of air the flow of water fleeting shadows the smile glimpsed at midnight ...
tall poplars -- human beings of this earth! black pounds of happiness -- you mirror them to death! I saw ...
The poplars are felled, farewell to the shade And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade: The winds play no ...
When melancholy Autumn comes to Wembley And electric trains are lighted after tea The poplars near the stadium are trembly ...
Poplars are standing there still as death And ghosts of dead men Meet their ladies walking Two by two beneath ...
Come, let us tell the weeds in ditches How we are poor, who once had riches, And lie out in ...
And the town is frozen solid in a vice, Trees, walls, snow, beneath a glass. Over crystal, on slippery tracks ...
Out here there are no hearthstones, Hot grains, simply. It is dry, dry. And the air dangerous. Noonday acts queerly ...
The dark is coming o'er the world, my playmate, And the fields where poplars stand are very still, All our ...
Hills of silver plate, grey heights, dark red rocks through which the Duero bends its crossbow arc round Soria, shadowed ...
Palacio, good friend, is spring there showing itself on branches of black poplars by the roads and river? On the ...
The pine-trees bend to listen to the autumn wind as it mutters Something which sets the black poplars ashake with ...
Can you imagine the air filled with smoke? It was. The city was vanishing before noon or was it earlier ...
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