The Dennis Omlette (Hal Gye Poems)
At the foot of Mt. St. Leonard where in spring the wattles glow,Where the mountain-ash and messmate 'midst the densest ...
At the foot of Mt. St. Leonard where in spring the wattles glow,Where the mountain-ash and messmate 'midst the densest ...
Little lion faceI stopped to pickamong the mass of thicksucculent blooms, the twicestreaked flanges of your silksunwheel relaxed in widedilation, ...
Little lion faceI stopped to pickamong the mass of thicksucculent blooms, the twicestreaked flanges of your silksunwheel relaxed in widedilation, ...
The white birches fringe the breast of the lake,Their dark leaves quiver, expectant.There is a far cry, passionate, insistent.All is ...
Plop, plop. The lobster toppled in the pot,fulfilling, dislike man, his destiny,glowing fire-red,succulent, and on the whole becoming whatman wants. ...
Thou, run to the dry on this wayside bank,Too plainly of all the propellers bereft!Quenched youth, and is that thy ...
Vocat aestus in umbram Nemesianus Es. IV. E. P. Ode pour l'?lection de son s?pulchre For three years, out of ...
Men knew and loved my calling in old days -- Days ere a bitter wisdom taught me fear.Trusting and unafraid, ...
By inlet and islet and wide river reaches, By lake and lagoon I'm at home,Yet oft' the far forests of ...
Down among the strawberries, Up among the plums,Cheeping in the cherry-tree When early autumn comes,In our silver spectacles And sober ...
this evangelistbuttons with his big gollywog voicethe kingdomofheaven up behind and crazilyskating thither and hither in filthy sawdustchucks and rollsagainst ...
I CAN imagine, in some otherworldPrimeval-dumb, far backIn that most awful stillness, that only gasped and hummed,Humming-birds raced down the ...
The sky is like a blue jellyfish.And all around are fields, rolling meadows--Peaceful world, you great mousetrap,Would that I might ...
Waiting for the ripening of the fruit the lone branch, the prickered vine one single ripe berry rich warm flesh ...
The house awash in the smell of last night's dinner, now the stuff of soup, the simmering bones of the ...
Bustopher Jones is not skin and bones-- In fact, he's remarkably fat. He doesn't haunt pubs--he has eight or nine ...
Plop, plop. The lobster toppled in the pot, fulfilling, dislike man, his destiny, glowing fire-red, succulent, and on the whole ...
"Vocat aestus in umbram" Nemesianus Es. IV. E. P. Ode pour l'élection de son sépulchre For three years, out of ...
In the storm-tossed Chilean sea lives the rosy conger, giant eel of snowy flesh. And in Chilean stewpots, along the ...
They are, the surfaces, gorgeous: a master pastry chef at work here, the dips and whorls, the wrist-twist squeezes of ...
A Fantasy, dedicated to the little poet Alice Oliver Henderson, ten years old. The Fantasy shows how tiger-hearts are the ...
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