The Bombardment (Amy Lowell Poem)
Slowly, without force, the rain drops into the city. It stops a moment on the carved head of Saint John, ...
Slowly, without force, the rain drops into the city. It stops a moment on the carved head of Saint John, ...
Part First Frau Concert-Meister Altgelt shut the door. A storm was rising, heavy gusts of wind Swirled through the trees, ...
"It is the future generation that presses into being by means of these exuberant feelings and supersensible soap bubbles of ...
I do not think of you lying in the wet clay Of a Monaghan graveyard; I see You walking down ...
I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer, The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no ...
After Joseph Roth Parce que c'était lui; parce que c'était moi. Montaigne, De L'amitië The dream's forfeit was a night ...
when they look into his mind they find a hill town somewhat surprised they go off to their learned books ...
Those cattle smaller than a Bee That herd upon the eye -- Whose tillage is the passing Crumb -- Those ...
To at last be indestructible, a poem must first glow, almost flammable, upon a thing inert, as gray, as dull ...
The castle clock had tolled midnight: With mattock and with spade, And silent, by the torches' light, His corse in ...
Everything has its limit, including sorrow. A windowpane stalls a stare. Nor does a grill abandon a leaf. One may ...
1 It once might have been, once only: 2 We lodged in a street together, 3 You, a sparrow on ...
Careful Observers may fortel the Hour (By sure Prognosticks) when to dread a Show'r: While Rain depends, the pensive Cat ...
The House is crammed: tier beyond tier they grin And cackle at the Show, while prancing ranks Of harlots shrill ...
TOMB of a millionaire, A multi-millionaire, ladies and gentlemen, Place of the dead where they spend every year The usury ...
I I dream of journeys repeatedly: Of flying like a bat deep into a narrowing tunnel Of driving alone, without ...
No. It can't be. No! You too, beloved? Why? What for? Darling, look - I came, I brought flowers, but, ...
The artichoke of delicate heart erect in its battle-dress, builds its minimal cupola; keeps stark in its scallop of scales. ...
THE Kings go by with jewled crowns; Their horses gleam, their banners shake, their spears are many. The sack of ...
At the open door of the room I stand and look at the night, Hold my hand to catch the ...
Green fingers holding the hillside, mustard whipping in the sea winds, one blood-bright poppy breathing in and out. The odor ...
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