THE SLAVE’S DREAM (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Poems)
Beside the ungathered rice he lay, His sickle in his hand; His breast was bare, his matted hair Was buried ...
Beside the ungathered rice he lay, His sickle in his hand; His breast was bare, his matted hair Was buried ...
I caught rumours of some internal hearing then you appeared with tears squeezing your eyes, hands scrunched up like a ...
1 Let observation with extensive view, 2 Survey mankind, from China to Peru; 3 Remark each anxious toil, each eager ...
Moving from Cheer to Joy, from Joy to All, I take a box And add it to my wild rice, ...
Napping at midday I hear the song of rice planters and feel ashamed of myself. (Kobayashi Issa)
That pretty girl-- munching and rustling the wrapped-up rice cake. (Kobayashi Issa)
to the memory of my friend SI-YA-U, whose head was cut off in Shanghai A CLAIM Renowned Leonardo's world-famous "La ...
Millions of babies watching the skies Bellies swollen, with big round eyes On Jessore Road--long bamboo huts Noplace to shit ...
The leaves of last autumn bled all their colors like rice paper maples not yet on the ground Illumined like ...
Seeping into our consciousness the images, the smells the lessons of the cherry blossoms the truths we know so well ...
The hands of the ferns translucent in the melting the frost bleeding to water soon to be gone Standing erect ...
The indictment of God the child of a faithful man Lo-Ammi (not my people) turning his face from them Are ...
Dying crocuses glorious in their fading becoming transparent in the mid-day sun Like rice paper blossoms or ones of thin ...
The bloom almost ready the petals yet to unfurl The crocus, cobalt, nascent up through the soil The leaves at ...
Nestled, sheltered against the warm brick the foundation of the church the dying bloom of the now lavender crocus Unfurled ...
Processes of the land, of the water, the air of plants, of animals, of man natural processes, those of man, ...
It was a pure moment an instant never to be found again a four year old's faith caught in my ...
By way of a vanished bridge we cross this river as a cloud of lifted snow would ascend a mountain. ...
Our life is a fire dampened, or a fire shut up in stone. --Jacob Boehme, De Incarnatione Verbi Outside everything ...
WHO knows the world will never feel surprise, When men are duped by artful women's eves; Though death his weapon ...
Often in this life of ours we resemble, in our failure to meet, the Shen and Shang constellations, one of ...
Roads not yet glistening, rain slight, Broken clouds darken after thinning away. Where they drift, purple cliffs blacken. And beyond ...
A scientist has a test tube full of sheep. He wonders if he should try to shrink a pasture for ...
Bustopher Jones is not skin and bones-- In fact, he's remarkably fat. He doesn't haunt pubs--he has eight or nine ...
It was the days of the slow roll, times when we dextrously dressed our hand-rolled cigarettes with a dearth of ...
I prefer the gorgeous freedom, And I fly to lands of grace, Where in wide and clear meadows All is ...
Listening to the moon, gazing at the croaking of frogs in a field of ripe rice. (Yosa Buson)
Bush warbler: shits on the rice cakes on the porch rail. (Matsuo Basho)
Wrapping the rice cakes, with one hand she fingers back her hair. (Matsuo Basho)
You won't become a gourmet* cook By studying our Fannie's book-- Her thoughts on Food & Keeping House Are scarcely ...
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