The Paper Windmill (Amy Lowell Poem)
The little boy pressed his face against the window-pane and looked out at the bright sunshiny morning. The cobble-stones of ...
The little boy pressed his face against the window-pane and looked out at the bright sunshiny morning. The cobble-stones of ...
Part First Frau Concert-Meister Altgelt shut the door. A storm was rising, heavy gusts of wind Swirled through the trees, ...
After a Print by George Cruikshank It was a gusty night, With the wind booming, and swooping, Looping round corners, ...
"Give me of your bark, O Birch-tree! Of your yellow bark, O Birch-tree! Growing by the rushing river, Tall and ...
This country least, but every inhabited country Is clotted with human anguish. Remember that at your feasts. And this is ...
Oh, very gloomy is the house of woe, Where tears are falling while the bell is knelling, With all the ...
I came an errand one cloud-blowing evening To a slab-built, black-paper-covered house Of one room and one window and one ...
A lantern light from deeper in the barn Shone on a man and woman in the door And threw their ...
The buzz-saw snarled and rattled in the yard And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood, Sweet-scented stuff when ...
I Midwinter spring is its own season Sempiternal though sodden towards sundown, Suspended in time, between pole and tropic. When ...
The Waste Land by T. S. Eliot "Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis vidi in ampulla pendere, et ...
In the pleasant time of Pentecost, By the little river Kyll, I followed the angler's winding path Or waded the ...
The Banker's Fate They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care; They pursued it with forks and hope; ...
AY, 'twas here, on this spot, In that summer of yore, Atalanta did not Vote my presence a bore, Nor ...
Dedication Inscribed to a dear Child: in memory of golden summer hours and whispers of a summer sea. Girt with ...
It pricks the arms like poison, knowing that some things, once chosen, are yours and that meanwhile the night comes ...
Something black somewhere in the vistas of his heart. Tulips from Tates teazed Henry in the mood to be a ...
If we sang in the wood (and Death is a German expert) while snows flies, chill, after so frequent knew ...
I The girl in the room beneath Before going to bed Strums on a mandolin The three simple tunes she ...
She wore little teeth of pearls around her neck. They were grinning politely and evenly at me. Unsuitable they smirked. ...
You never heard tell of the story? Well, now, I can hardly believe! Never heard of the honour and glory ...
The railway rattled and roared and swung With jolting and bumping trucks. The sun, like a billiard red ball, hung ...
With never a sound of trumpet, With never a flag displayed, The last of the old campaigners Lined up for ...
'Twas the horse thief, Andy Regan, that was hunted like a dog By the troopers of the upper Murray side, ...
But, learning now that they would have her speak, She threw her wet hair backward from her brow, Her hand ...
[The late Mr. Jonathan Swift Somers, laureate of Spoon River, planned The Spooniad as an epic in twenty-four books, but ...
Here, where precipitate Spring with one light bound Into hot Summer's lusty arms expires; And where go forth at morn, ...
(A Negro Sermon.) Once, in a night as black as ink, She drove him out when he would not drink. ...
Last night at black midnight I woke with a cry, The windows were shaking, there was thunder on high, The ...
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