Fra Lippo Lippi (Robert Browning Poem)
I am poor brother Lippo, by your leave! You need not clap your torches to my face. Zooks, what's to ...
I am poor brother Lippo, by your leave! You need not clap your torches to my face. Zooks, what's to ...
NO more wine? then we'll push back chairs and talk. A final glass for me, though: cool, i' faith! We ...
That second time they hunted me From hill to plain, from shore to sea, And Austria, hounding far and wide ...
I. So far as our story approaches the end, Which do you pity the most of us three?- My friend, ...
I DO confess thou art sae fair, I was been o'er the lugs in luve, Had I na found the ...
Now, when the moon slid under the cloud And the cold clear dark of starlight fell, He heard in his ...
from Senlin: A Biography It is moonlight. Alone in the silence I ascend my stairs once more, While waves, remote ...
We are thine, O Love, being in thee and made of thee, As théou, Léove, were the déep thought And ...
A quay with vessels moored Thomas To India! Yea, here I may take ship; From here the courses go over ...
I have come, alas, to the great circle of shadow, to the short day and to the whitening hills, when ...
Everything's looted, betrayed and traded, black death's wing's overhead. Everything's eaten by hunger, unsated, so why does a light shine ...
Not under foreign skies Nor under foreign wings protected - I shared all this with my own people There, where ...
So many stones have been thrown at me, That I'm not frightened of them anymore, And the pit has become ...
Hebrew writing and Arabic writing go from east to west, Latin writing, from west to east. Languages are like cats: ...
Yes! in the sea of life enisled, With echoing straits between us thrown, Dotting the shoreless watery wild, We mortal ...
There is nothing to be afraid of, it is only the wind changing to the east, it is only your ...
WE overstate the ills of life, and take Imagination (given us to bring down The choirs of singing angels overshone ...
I The face, which, duly as the sun, Rose up for me with life begun, To mark all bright hours ...
My own Beloved, who hast lifted me From this drear flat of earth where I was thrown, And, in betwixt ...
Thou fair hair'd angel of the evening, Now, while the sun rests on the mountains light, Thy bright torch of ...
a symphony orchestra. there is a thunderstorm, they are playing a Wagner overture and the people leave their seats under ...
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