Unpublished Poem I (Adam Lindsay Gordon Poems)
JONES plays the deuce with his grammar,Knocks time and tense into tin-tacks ;Brown, the big Visigoth, wielding blunt hammer,Mauls right ...
JONES plays the deuce with his grammar,Knocks time and tense into tin-tacks ;Brown, the big Visigoth, wielding blunt hammer,Mauls right ...
At the small zocalo,sipping beer and bored:sunlight was a fading scribblein the West, the heat was ascendinglike a saint, the ...
("If I have erred I err in company with AbrahamLincoln."--THEODORE ROOSEVELT.)If e'er my rhyming be at fault, If e'er I ...
In these days, every mother's son or daughter Writes verse, which no one reads except the writer, ...
It's always August.Before sunuphe leaves the scaffoldand enters the worldof office workers:the raffles of forms,the committeesof pencils,the muted staples.Now he ...
Yes, I shall swear by you, my verse,I shall wheeze out, before I swoon:You're not a tenor's shape and voice,You're ...
What's that over there? Thiepval Wood.Take a steady look at it; it'll do you good.Here, these glasses will help you. ...
[I feel considerable hesitation in venturing to offer this version of a poem which Carlyle describes to be 'a beautiful ...
I stayed the night for shelter at a farm Behind the mountains, with a mother and son, Two old-believers. They ...
WHILE new-ca'd kye rowte at the stake An' pownies reek in pleugh or braik, This hour on e'enin's edge I ...
All actors look for them-the defining moments When what a character does is what he is. The script may say, ...
Now Night came down, and rose full soon That patroness of rogues, the Moon; Beneath whose kind protecting ray, Wolves, ...
Desks are straining on all fours, flanks Heaving to hurl the hunched riders Down crack and cranny, buck Finger-snapping lids, ...
The mint bed is in bloom: lavender haze day. The grass is more than green and throws up sharp and ...
Boss of all bosses of the universe. Mr. know-it-all, wheeler-dealer, wire-puller, And whatever else you're good at. Go ahead, shuffle ...
I Let others sing of gold and gear, the joy of being rich; But oh, the days when I was ...
"The past is a bucket of ashes." 1 THE WOMAN named To-morrow sits with a hairpin in her teeth and ...
'Tis hard to say, if greater Want of Skill Appear in Writing or in Judging ill, But, of the two, ...
Ne Rubeam, Pingui donatus Munere (Horace, Epistles II.i.267) While you, great patron of mankind, sustain The balanc'd world, and open ...
Part 1 WHAT dire Offence from am'rous Causes springs, What mighty Contests rise from trivial Things, I sing -- This ...
But anxious cares the pensive nymph oppress'd, And secret passions labour'd in her breast. Not youthful kings in battle seiz'd ...
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