What We All Feel (Martin Farquhar Tupper Poems)
Ah! Life,-- so purposeless yet steep'd in self, I do confess thee, yea, I do condemn thee,So pack'd with pleasure, or ...
Ah! Life,-- so purposeless yet steep'd in self, I do confess thee, yea, I do condemn thee,So pack'd with pleasure, or ...
I.WHAT shalt THOU know of Spring? A verdant crown Of young boughs waving o'er thy blooming head: White tufted Guelder-roses, ...
FROM the squat tavern laughing to the eastHe turned; within the murmuring babbleceas'd;And red wine split on scattered roses thereExhaled ...
PEACE to their ashes! Far away they lie, Among their poor, beneath the equal sky. Among their poor, who blessed ...
The house in Broad Street, red brick, with nine rooms the weedgrown graveyard with its rows of tombs the jail ...
He who, in his young sweet lifetime, When his heart with its visions was rife,Hath felt not the worship of ...
BESIDE thee, O my river, where I waitThrough vista long of years and drink my fillOf beauty and of light, ...
If this were all of life we'll know, If this brief space of breathWere all there is to human toil, ...
WILD fields of Ocean, piling heap on heap Thy mountainous wealth of water, but to fling Abroad in spendthrift haste, ...
Here, in this little Bay, Full of tumultuous life and great repose, Where, twice a day, The purposeless, gay ocean ...
He had offices in Sydney, not so many years ago, And his shingle bore the legend `Peter Anderson and Co.', ...
From Cocoon forth a Butterfly As Lady from her Door Emerged -- a Summer Afternoon -- Repairing Everywhere -- Without ...
If dead, we cease to be ; if total gloom Swallow up life's brief flash for aye, we fare As ...
I held the switch in trembling fingers, asked why existence felt so small, so purposeless, like a minnow wriggling feebly ...
I have taken refuge in travelogues, bare silk-screen images of evening cityscapes giving in to a garish-clad sky; a tourist ...
Coldly, sadly descends The autumn-evening. The field Strewn with its dank yellow drifts Of wither'd leaves, and the elms, Fade ...
1 The children of the Czar Played with a bouncing ball In the May morning, in the Czar's garden, Tossing ...
Earth no longer hymns the Creator, the seven days of wonder, the Garden is over - all the stories are ...
Here, in this little Bay, Full of tumultuous life and great repose, Where, twice a day, The purposeless, gay ocean ...
Somewhere, suspended in facetless space, the vine is spiralling, shown in the distance, with loosened hair: the farther the eye ...
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