In the Small Church (Raymond A. Foss Poem)
A small church long past its birth stained windows, stained ceilings, dark stain on the pews dark runners on the ...
A small church long past its birth stained windows, stained ceilings, dark stain on the pews dark runners on the ...
She sat beside me in the chapel this morning as her momma began to preach we were in the back, ...
Made him to be sin, stained with our blood the read stain of our unfaithfulness, washed over him coloring him ...
In the little room, off the sanctuary, the space where worship supplies were kept, a stack of white linen tablecloths, ...
There were boxes every shape and size attic, basement, storage space still, quiet, frozen in time forgotten boxes of shards ...
Sweat and avarice Were pungent under The cloud of dust From the pit Arms beat in the air Voices raised ...
This little house sows the degrees By which wood can return to trees. Weather has stained the shingles dark And ...
Old Davis owned a solid mica mountain In Dalton that would someday make his fortune. There'd been some Boston people ...
The battle rent a cobweb diamond-strung And cut a flower beside a ground bird's nest Before it stained a single ...
Blood has been harder to dam back than water. Just when we think we have it impounded safe Behind new ...
TWELVE o'clock. Along the reaches of the street Held in a lunar synthesis, Whispering lunar incantations Dissolve the floors of ...
Shall I get drunk or cut myself a piece of cake, a pasty Syrian with a few words of English ...
The melancholy gift Aurora gained From Jove, that her sad lover should not see The face of death, no goddess ...
Stars wheel in purple, yours is not so rare as Hesperus, nor yet so great a star as bright Aldeboran ...
Over the fence -- Strawberries -- grow -- Over the fence -- I could climb -- if I tried, I ...
We were born of tea, our mum could drink fourteen cups a day, an awesome feat to try to rationalise, ...
I The rutted roads are all like iron; skies Are keen and brilliant; only the oak-leaves cling In the bare ...
One in thy thousand statues we salute thee On all thy thousand thrones acclaim and claim Who walk in forest ...
1 On Linden, when the sun was low, 2 All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, 3 And dark as winter ...
Ere on my bed my limbs I lay, It hath not been my use to pray With moving lips or ...
Why is it that Poetry has never yet been subjected to that process of Dilution which has proved so advantageous ...
I never loved a dear Gazelle-- Nor anything that cost me much: High prices profit those who sell, But why ...
Up the ash tree climbs the ivy, Up the ivy climbs the sun, With a twenty-thousand pattering, Has a valley ...
Bells are booming down the bohreens, White the mist along the grass, Now the Julias, Maeves and Maureens Move between ...
There is a meadow in Sweden where I lie smitten, eyes stained with clouds' white ins and outs. And about ...
I've quenched my lamp, I struck it in that start Which every limb convulsed, I heard it fall The crash ...
1.1 Lo now! four other acts upon the stage, 1.2 Childhood, and Youth, the Manly, and Old-age. 1.3 The first: ...
Black trees against an orange sky, Trees that the wind shook terribly, Like a harsh spume along the road, Quavering ...
'Twas after dread Pultowa's day, When fortune left the royal Swede - Around a slaughtered army lay, No more to ...
A Fragment of a Turkish Tale The tale which these disjointed fragments present, is founded upon circumstances now less common ...
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