For the Grieg Centenary (Norman Nicholson Poems)
The fells are jagged in the shining air; the windSharpens itself like a knife on the rough edges;The sky is ...
The fells are jagged in the shining air; the windSharpens itself like a knife on the rough edges;The sky is ...
The baker-man was kneading doughAnd whistling softly, sweet and lough.Yet ever and anon he'd coughAs though his head were coming ...
The wind stood up and gave a shout.He whistled on his fingers andKicked the withered leaves aboutAnd thumped the branches ...
I chanced upon an early walk to spyA troop of children through an orchard gate:The boughs hung low, the grass ...
O man with a Position, prithee tell,How is't you mould your sal'ried life so well;Holding in lofty scorn that lowly ...
I'm a broken-hearted miner, who loves his cup to drain,Which often-times has caused me to lie in frost and rain.Roaming ...
We called him "Rags." He was just a cur,But twice, on the Western Line,That little old bunch of faithful furHad ...
I quarreled with my brother,I don't know what about,One thing led to anotherAnd somehow we fell out.The start of it ...
It was pleasant up the country, City Bushman, where you went, For you sought the greener patches and you travelled ...
(roundel: variation of the rondeau consisting of three stanzas of three lines each, linked together with but two rhymes and ...
And all at length are gathered in. --LOUISE BOGAN By the time I came around to feeling pain and woke ...
I'll tell thee everything I can: There's little to relate. I saw an aged aged man, A-sitting on a gate. ...
'Haddock's Eyes' or 'The Aged Aged Man' or 'Ways and Means' or 'A-Sitting On A Gate' I'll tell thee everything ...
I'll tell thee everything I can; There's little to relate. I saw an aged aged man, A-sitting on a gate. ...
Not under foreign skies Nor under foreign wings protected - I shared all this with my own people There, where ...
THEY all climbed up on a high board-fence--- Nine little Goblins, with green-glass eyes--- Nine little Goblins that had no ...
(To Paul Sykes, author of 'Sweet Agony') He demolished five doors at a sitting And topped it off with an ...
I used to think a pot of ink Held magic in its fluid, And I would ply a pen when ...
Aunt Imogen was coming, and therefore The children-Jane, Sylvester, and Young George- Were eyes and ears; for there was only ...
It seemed that out of the battle I escaped Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped Through granites which ...
Last night at black midnight I woke with a cry, The windows were shaking, there was thunder on high, The ...
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