Ghosts (Marguerite Mooers Marshall Poems)
They call you cold New England, But underneath your snow Is blood as red as roses That in your gardens blow. The God ...
They call you cold New England, But underneath your snow Is blood as red as roses That in your gardens blow. The God ...
Fall, falling, fallen. That's the way the seasonChanges its tense in the long-haired maplesThat dot the road; the veiny hand-shaped ...
THE leaves and tassels of the oakWere golden-green with May,Pavilion whence forever brokeSome angel roundelay.A carol like a glory cameFrom ...
Unlearned I in ornithology-- All I know about the birdsIs a bunch of etymology, Just a lot of high--flown words.Is ...
A mile behind is Gloucester town Where the flishing fleets put in, A mile ahead the land dips down And ...
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