The Hound of Heaven (Francis Thompson Poems)
I fled Him, down the nights and down the days; I fled Him, down the arches of the years; I ...
I fled Him, down the nights and down the days; I fled Him, down the arches of the years; I ...
On one fine but fatal morning in the early Eocene, Lo, a brawny Bloke set out to dig a hole:First ...
I had ridden far from the battle, from the red wrack, and the lastLost hope that had clung to hope ...
He who died at Azan sendsThis to comfort all his friends:Faithful friends! It lies, I know,Pale and white and cold ...
Close-locked in fight, — beat by battle's raging passion, A stern wall of steel on a hillside drenched with ...
Wrapt in mist and washed with rain Is the hill of Rahinane; Compassed by the hosts of sleep Is its ...
God of our fathers, known of old -- Lord of our far-flung battle line -- Beneath whose awful hand we ...
God of our fathers, known of old -- Lord of our far-flung battle line -- Beneath whose awful hand we ...
(roundel: variation of the rondeau consisting of three stanzas of three lines each, linked together with but two rhymes and ...
(for matt - 15) in the first seven years you choose your howdah having by then bare inklings of a ...
Crushed Breached Bent Rent Your car Smell of fluids Spilt, spent Cold breath Hung in the air As I searched ...
Thy summer voice, Musketaquit, Repeats the music of the rain; But sweeter rivers pulsing flit Through thee, as thou through ...
Gnashing teeth, a grinding meet of molars crashing cuspid on cuspid and the fracture of a piece, of pressure not ...
There were still shards of an ancient pastoral in those shires of the island where the cattle drank their pools ...
(In memoriam C. T. W. Sometime trooper of the Royal Horse Guards obiit H.M. prison, Reading, Berkshire July 7, 1896) ...
I fled Him down the nights and down the days I fled Him down the arches of the years I ...
Although my blood I've shed In war's red wrath, Oh how I darkly dread Its aftermath! Oh how I fear ...
Beyond the Rocking Bridge it lies, the burg of evil fame, The huts where hive and swarm and thrive the ...
After seeing at Boston the statue of Robert Gould Shaw, killed while storming Fort Wagner, July 18, 1863, at the ...
This, then, is she, My mother as she looked at seventeen, When she first met my father. Young incredibly, Younger ...
A year or two, and grey Euripides, And Horace and a Lydia or so, And Euclid and the brush of ...
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