Red Is The Color Of Blood (Conrad Potter Aiken Poems)
Red is the color of blood, and I will seek it: I have sought it in the grass. It is ...
Red is the color of blood, and I will seek it: I have sought it in the grass. It is ...
"SUMMER Winds, whispering over the rye,Kissing the roses and hurrying by,Where have ye latest been, 0 where?Merrily tangling my maiden's ...
THE CYNDUS1Beneath th' triumphal blue, th' riotous day, Her silvern galley beats the black flood white, Whilst the long sillage ...
Is it parting with the roundnessOf the smoothly moulded cheek?Is it losing from the dimplesHalf the flashing joy they speak?Is ...
When you sing, O lady mine, I remember, long ago, Philomela in the grove, Singing of ...
IA satyr spied a Goddess in her bath,Unseen of her attendant nymphs; none knew.Forthwith the creature to his fellows drew,And ...
"Ere last year's moon had left the sky, A birdling sought my Indian nest, And folded, O, so lovingly, ...
Angelic love that stoops with heavenly lipsTo meet its earthly mate;Heroic love that to its sphere's eclipseCan dare to join ...
To-day I saw Laila's breasts, the hills of a fair cityFrom which my heart might leap to heaven.Her breasts are ...
I How the slates of the roof sparkle in the sun, over there, over there, beyond the high wall! How ...
Pale, with the blue of high zeniths, shimmered over with silver, brocaded In smooth, running patterns, a soft stuff, with ...
SAY not the Poet dies! Though in the dust he lies, He cannot forfeit his melodious breath, Unsphered by envious ...
I Time present and time past Are both perhaps present in time future, And time future contained in time past. ...
Where Claribel low-lieth The breezes pause and die, Letting the rose-leaves fall: But the solemn oak-tree sigheth, Thick-leaved, ambrosial, With ...
Where Claribel low-lieth The breezes pause and die, Letting the rose-leaves fall: But the solemn oak-tree sigheth, Thick-leaved, ambrosial, With ...
From the depths of the green garden-closes Where the summer in darkness dozes Till autumn pluck from his hand An ...
At dusk, when lowlands where dark waters glide Robe in gray mist, and through the greening hills The hoot-owl calls ...
I know a village in a far-off land Where from a sunny, mountain-girdled plain With tinted walls a space on ...
Sing we for love and idleness, Naught else is worth the having. Though I have been in many a land, ...
The petals fall in the fountain, the orange-coloured rose-leaves, Their ochre clings to the stone. (Ezra Pound)
Through thick Arcadian woods a hunter went, Following the beasts upon a fresh spring day; But since his horn-tipped bow ...
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