The Pilgrim And The Ploughman (Francis Turner Palgrave Poems)
1382It is a dream, I know:--Yet on the pastOf this dear England if in thought we gaze,About her seems a ...
1382It is a dream, I know:--Yet on the pastOf this dear England if in thought we gaze,About her seems a ...
MY aged head now stoops its honours low, Bow'd with the load of fifty winters' snow; And for the raven's ...
I was laying round town just spending my timeOut of a job and not makin' a dimeWhen up steps a ...
Today I saw the shop-girl goDown gay Broadway to meet her beau.Conspicuous, splendid, conscious, sweet,She spread abroad and took the ...
O to go out once more and see the moon's clear shining Break on the waters into silver bars,Hear ...
Ich habe eine Stunde damit verbrachtein Gedicht das ich geschrieben habezu korrigierenEine StundeDas hei?t: In dieser Zeitsind 1400 kleine Kinder ...
The yellow gas is fired from street to streetpast rows of heartless homes and hearths unlit,dead churches, and the unending ...
SOFT Sensibility! subduing power,Thy thorns are wounding while I pluck the flower;Thy influence all unseen, beyond controul,Rouses each finer feeling ...
ABSENCE, the noble truce Of Cupid's war, Where though desires want use, They honor'd are, Thou art the just protection ...
PEACE, your little child is dead:Peace, I cannot weep with you;I have no more tears to shed;I have mourned my ...
"Behind the board fence at the banker's house The slender, tawn-gray creature starves and thirsts In agony of fear. A ...
Why should I let the toad work Squat on my life? Can't I use my wit as a pitchfork And ...
Out West, where the stars are brightest, Where the scorching north wind blows, And the bones of the dead gleam ...
I am the blossom pressed in a book, found again after two hundred years. . . . I am the ...
I am poor brother Lippo, by your leave! You need not clap your torches to my face. Zooks, what's to ...
Chloe, In verse by your command I write. Shortly you'll bid me ride astride, and fight: These talents better with ...
Scene, on the Cliffs to the Eastward of the Town of Brighthelmstone in Sussex. Time, a Morning in November, 1792. ...
Blind Peter Piper used to play All up and down the city; I'd often meet him on my way, And ...
To rest my fagged brain now and then, When wearied of my proper labors, I lay aside my lagging pen ...
My banks are all furnished with rags, So thick, even Freddy can't thin 'em; I've torn up my old money-bags, ...
In o'er-strict calyx lingering, Lay music's bud too long unblown, Till thou, Beethoven, breathed the spring: Then bloomed the perfect ...
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