The Traveller; or, A Prospect of Society (Oliver Goldsmith Poems)
Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slowOr by the lazy Scheldt or wandering Po,OR onward, where the rude Corinthian boorAgainst the houseless stranger ...
Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slowOr by the lazy Scheldt or wandering Po,OR onward, where the rude Corinthian boorAgainst the houseless stranger ...
Fain would my verse, Tyrconnel, boast thy name,Brownlow, at once my subject and my fame!Oh! could that spirit, which thy ...
This is a very pleasant sight,—The Moslems thronging to the squareThat lies before their house of prayer!Through narrow streets, that ...
DEAR GOVERNOR, if my skiff might braveThe winds that lift the ocean wave,The mountain stream that loops and swervesThrough my ...
Here, at its base, in dingled deeps Of spice-bush, where the ivy creeps, The cold spring scoops its hollow; And there three mossy ...
Heavy-hocked, barrel-bellied,exhaling billows of steam, they waitwhile the corn, wheat, clover,and potato fields surround us, finishedfor the season. We listened ...
Behold, even I, even I am Beatrice.(Div. Com. Purg. xxx.)OF Florence and of BeatriceServant and singer from of old,O'er Dante's ...
Awake, my muse, ye goodly sights among,The land of Boone and Kenton claims my song.Thro' other scenes our lovers take ...
As I was walking beside the docks I met a pal o' mineI sailed with once on the Colonies' run ...
This talk about the journalists that run the East is bosh,We've got a Western editor that's little, but, O gosh!He ...
"We sweep a bit and we fight a bit—an' that's what we like the best— But a towin' job ...
"Old women look intently at Nothing when the doctor announces a cancer, dark fruit, under the shrunk left breast.Girls' hands ...
Repeat that, repeat, Cuckoo, bird, and open ear wells, heart-springs, delightfully sweet, With a ballad, with a ballad, a rebound ...
(to where the ashes of both my parents are strewn) i) ok the pair of you lie still what's disturbing ...
This talk about the journalists that run the East is bosh, We've got a Western editor that's little, but, O ...
I O THOU, that sit'st upon a throne, With harp of high majestic tone, To praise the King of kings; ...
SMOKE of the fields in spring is one, Smoke of the leaves in autumn another. Smoke of a steel-mill roof ...
BOX cars run by a mile long. And I wonder what they say to each other When they stop a ...
Interior of the hand. Sole that has come to walk only on feelings. That faces upward and in its mirror ...
Est brevitate opus, ut currat sententia, neu se Impediat verbis lassas onerantibus aures: Et sermone opus est modo tristi, saepe ...
Has my heart gone to sleep? Have the beehives of my dreams stopped working, the waterwheel of the mind run ...
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