The Cyclists (Amy Lowell Poem)
Spread on the roadway, With open-blown jackets, Like black, soaring pinions, They swoop down the hillside, The Cyclists. Seeming dark-plumaged ...
Spread on the roadway, With open-blown jackets, Like black, soaring pinions, They swoop down the hillside, The Cyclists. Seeming dark-plumaged ...
I Hoops Blue and pink sashes, Criss-cross shoes, Minna and Stella run out into the garden To play at hoop. ...
High up above the open, welcoming door It hangs, a piece of wood with colours dim. Once, long ago, it ...
ENDYMION. A Poetic Romance. "THE STRETCHED METRE OF AN AN ANTIQUE SONG." INSCRIBED TO THE MEMORY OF THOMAS CHATTERTON. Book ...
In Memory of one of the Writer's Family who was a Volunteer during the War with Napoleon In a ferny ...
on a deformed request in a train lavatory gentlemen lift the sea be all of you the modern muscular mountains ...
in the wares before you spread, Types of all things may be read. 'NEATH the shadow Of these bushes, On ...
They were poised, hooked in their hangers like bats in the cave anchored where they were ready to dive and ...
Stairs fly as straight as hawks; Or else in spirals, curve out of curve, pausing At a ledge to poise ...
I. A bridge of pearls its form uprears High o'er a gray and misty sea; E'en in a moment it ...
I'm scared of it all, God's truth! so I am; It's too big and brutal for me. My nerve's on ...
In the little Crimson Manual it's written plain and clear That who would wear the scarlet coat shall say good-bye ...
Why should I be the first to fall Of all the leaves on this old tree? Though sadly soon I ...
One's grand flights, one's Sunday baths, One's tootings at the weddings of the soul Occur as they occur. So bluish ...
BEYOND the gates thou gav'st a field to till; I have a larger on my window-sill. A farm, d'ye say? ...
For the seven lakes, and by no man these verses: Rain; empty river; a voyage, Fire from frozen cloud, heavy ...
The Boastful Crow and the Laughing Jack Were telling tales of the outer back: "I've just been travelling far and ...
Humans are flown, or fall; humans can't fly. We're down with the gravity-stemmers, rare, thick-boned, often basso. Most animals above ...
Their shadow dims the sunshine of our day, As they go lumbering across the sky, Squawking in joy of feeling ...
At evening, sitting on this terrace, When the sun from the west, beyond Pisa, beyond the mountains of Carrara Departs, ...
Here was a man who watched the river flow Past the huge town, one gray November day. Round him in ...
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