The Borough. Letter XII: Players (George Crabbe Poems)
These are monarchs none respect,Heroes, yet an humbled crew,Nobles, whom the crowd correct,Wealthy men, whom duns pursue;Beauties shrinking from the ...
These are monarchs none respect,Heroes, yet an humbled crew,Nobles, whom the crowd correct,Wealthy men, whom duns pursue;Beauties shrinking from the ...
With tears I leave these academic bowers, And cease to cull the scientific flowers; With tears I hail the fair ...
To Churchill's Sermons. The manuscript of this unfinished poem was found among the few papers Churchill left behind ...
Mr. Simkin B---n---r---d to Lady B---n---r---d, at--- Hall, North.Mr. B---n---r---d's Reflections on his Arrival at Bath.--The Case of Himself and ...
DEEPLY INTERESTED IN THE SUBJECT OF THEFOLLOWING POEM. But soft, but see, or rather do not see,My fair rose wither.SHAKSPEARE. ...
I.THOU com'st, in beauty, on my gaze at last,"On Susquehannah's side, fair Wyoming!"Image of many a dream, in hours long ...
OUT of the cloud that dimmed his sunset light,Into the unknown firmament withdrawnBeyond the mists and shadows of the night,We ...
And when, at lastEscaped,-so many a green slope built on slopeBetwixt me and the enemy's house behind,I dared to rest, ...
The curtain falls—closed is the Drama's page:Why lingers Beatrice upon the stage?Away, illusion!—this is not thy sphere—The sigh is faithful, ...
England, cannot thy shores boast bards as great,And hearts as good as ever blest a State?When arts were rude and ...
By the pure spring, whose haunted waters flow Through thy sequestered dell unto the sea, At sunny noon, ...
FAR from contention, envy, strife,Be mine the tranquil path of life,To lift the cottage simple latch,Where woodbines climb the lowly ...
WITH Shakspeare's manhood at a boy's wild heart,-Through Hamlet's doubt to Shakspeare near allied,And kin to Milton through his Satan's ...
THIS tree, here fall'n, no common birth or deathShared with its kind. The world's enfranchised son,Who found the trees of ...
O RUFF-EMBASTIONED vast Elizabeth, Bush to these bushel-bellied casks of wine, Home-growth, 'tis true, but rank as turpentine-What would we ...
THE summer comes again, yet nothing bringsOf him but memories of that clear-lit eye,That voice, that presence that can never ...
I like a church, I like a cowl, I love a prophet of the soul, And on my heart monastic ...
"OH, when I was a little Ghost, A merry time had we! Each seated on his favourite post, We chumped ...
I am like, They tell me, my dear father. Broader brows Howbeit, upon a slenderer undergrowth Of delicate ...
1 AFTER all, not to create only, or found only, But to bring, perhaps from afar, what is already founded, ...
Alas! England now mourns for her poet that's gone- The late and the good Lord Tennyson. I hope his soul ...
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