Pigeon Toes (Henry Lawson Poems)
A dusty clearing in the scrubs Of barren, western lands-Where, out of sight, or sign of hope The wretched school-house stands;A roof ...
A dusty clearing in the scrubs Of barren, western lands-Where, out of sight, or sign of hope The wretched school-house stands;A roof ...
What shall I teach in the vivid afternoonWith the sun warming the blackboard and a slipOf cloud catching my eye?Only ...
Duporte the roofer that calm voicethose sure hands gentling weathered tilesinto new generations orhalf of him rising through a rooflike ...
To every class we have a School assign'd,Rules for all ranks and food for every mind:Yet one there is, that ...
Yon, in the depths of the evening's track,Like a herd of blind bullocks that seek their fellows,Wild, as in terror, ...
Like some school master, kind in being stern,Who hears the children crying o'er their slatesAnd calling, "Help me master!" yet ...
The night proceeds and dwindlingPrepares the day's rebirth.An airman is ascendingAbove the sleeping earth.And almost disappearingIn cloud, a tiny spark,He ...
Nigh the mouldering staitheWhere the lads came to bathe,And the tidal river as it passesLicks with salty lipsThe wiry grassesWhere ...
The little streets of Sailor Town They are not fair nor fine,That straggle with their sooty slates ...
When Lent and Responsions are ended,When May with fritillaries waits,When the flower of the chestnut is splendid,When drags are at ...
What for in this life you wore out the spirit In vain meditations, thoughtful man? - You scalped all the ...
The Bell in the convent tower swung. High overhead the great sun hung, A navel for the curving sky. The ...
I How the slates of the roof sparkle in the sun, over there, over there, beyond the high wall! How ...
In their reflection, our flaws, our lapses, our weakness, humanness, reality, blemishes and all Blank slates, ready to be filled ...
Bells are booming down the bohreens, White the mist along the grass, Now the Julias, Maeves and Maureens Move between ...
(Translated from the French by Edouard Rodti) My wife with the hair of a wood fire With the thoughts of ...
I, the poet William Yeats, With old mill boards and sea-green slates, And smithy work from the Gort forge, Restored ...
L'orage qui s'attarde, le lit d?fait Yves Bonnefoy Here am I, lying lacklustre in an unmade bed A Sunday in ...
As soon as we crossed into Yorkshire Hughes' voice assailed me, unmistakable Gravel and honey, a raw celebration of rain ...
Ears in the turrets hear Hands grumble on the door, Eyes in the gables see The fingers at the locks. ...
'Twas in the year of 1893, and on the 17th and 18th of November, Which the people of Dundee and ...
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