Sancta Maria, Succurre Miseris (Amy Lowell Poem)
Dear Virgin Mary, far away, Look down from Heaven while I pray. Open your golden casement high, And lean way ...
Dear Virgin Mary, far away, Look down from Heaven while I pray. Open your golden casement high, And lean way ...
Miss Murphy in first grade wrote its name in chalk across the board and told us it was roaring down ...
When spring-time flushes the desert grass, Our kafilas wind through the Khyber Pass. Lean are the camels but fat the ...
I want to understand the steep thing that climbs ladders in your throat. I can't make sense of you. Everywhere ...
I thought it made me look more 'working class' (as if a bit of chequered cloth could bridge that gap!) ...
The fox pushes softly, blindly through me at night, between the liver and the stomach. Comes to the heart and ...
Requiring something lovely on his arm Took me to Stamford, Connecticut, a quasi-farm, His family's; later picking up the mammoth ...
Memory: I can take my head and strike it on a wall on Cumberland Island Where the night tide came ...
As he writes, without looking at the sea, he feels the tip of his pen begin to tremble. The tide ...
The lone man gazed and gazed upon his gold, His sweat, his blood, the wage of weary days; But now ...
You never saw a cat with wings, I'll bet a dollar -- well, I did; 'Twas one of those fantastic ...
A sea-gull with a broken wing, I found upon the kelp-strewn shore. It sprawled and gasped; I sighed: "Poor thing! ...
'The effect of our bombardment was terrific. One man told me he had never seen so many dead before.' -War ...
What guts he had, the Dago lad Who fought that Frenchman grim with guile; For nigh an hour they milled ...
I placed a jar in Tennessee, And round it was, upon a hill. It made the slovenly wilderness Surround that ...
We'd gained our first objective hours before While dawn broke like a face with blinking eyes, Pallid, unshaved and thirsty, ...
The darkness crumbles away It is the same old druid Time as ever, Only a live thing leaps my hand, ...
The plunging limbers over the shattered track Racketed with their rusty freight, Stuck out like many crowns of thorns, And ...
In Baltimore there lived a boy. He wasn't anybody's joy. Although his name was Jabez Dawes, His character was full ...
A Fantasy, dedicated to the little poet Alice Oliver Henderson, ten years old. The Fantasy shows how tiger-hearts are the ...
I opened the ink-well and smoke filled the room. The smoke formed the giant frog-cat of my doom. His web ...
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