The Ten Poems of Solitude VII (Hugues C Pernath Poems)
I no longer belong but control the tremblingAblaze and senile, sleepless in the pastIn the things that have happened, the ...
I no longer belong but control the tremblingAblaze and senile, sleepless in the pastIn the things that have happened, the ...
When she comes - will her eyes go green, gray,Gray or green in the river?The hours will be new in ...
Again tonight I read "Before Disaster,"The tense memento of a willThat's striven thirty years to masterOne chaos with one spirit's ...
Looking into the windows that doom has brokenWhere the vague star illumines death and dustAnd the shadows of actions whose ...
Wreck not the ageing heart of quietness,With alien uproar and rude jolly cries,Which satyr like to a mild maidens pride,Ripens ...
Thou, run to the dry on this wayside bank,Too plainly of all the propellers bereft!Quenched youth, and is that thy ...
IOne fairest of the ripe unwedded leftHer shadow on the Sage's path; he found,By common signs, that she had done ...
I awoke at a breath, and looked out on the world's wan face While the dew like a death-damp hung ...
Forty Years AfterCOMRADE, yet a little further I would go before the nightCloses round and chills in darkness all the ...
Brothers, have you observed the calm?Even the leaves of that symbolic palmThat denotes peace, political and otherwise, are scarcely stirredBy ...
The unsoiled hand, the sleek, black coat, The senile, ledger-haunted hours,The knowledge that my freeman's vote Is humbly cast to ...
What is he thinking lying there so still, This tiny piece of soft humanity, This little unknown stranger in our ...
TO MISS GRACE KINGDown in the old French quarter, Just out of Rampart street, I wend my way ...
Wind whines and whines the shingle, The crazy pierstakes groan; A senile sea numbers each single Slimesilvered stone. From whining ...
TO MISS GRACE KING Down in the old French quarter, Just out of Rampart street, I wend my way At ...
Some good people, daring & subtle voices and their tense faces, as I think of it I see sank underground. ...
I never could imagine God: I don't suppose I ever will. Beside His altar fire I nod With senile drowsiness ...
Great Grandfather was ninety-nine And so it was our one dread, That though his health was superfine He'd fail to ...
The songs I made from joy of earth In wanton wandering, Are rapturous with Maytime mirth And ectasy of Spring. ...
Master I may be, But not of my fate. Now come the kisses, too many too late. Tell me, O ...
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