Sancta Maria, Succurre Miseris (Amy Lowell Poem)
Dear Virgin Mary, far away, Look down from Heaven while I pray. Open your golden casement high, And lean way ...
Dear Virgin Mary, far away, Look down from Heaven while I pray. Open your golden casement high, And lean way ...
That Whitsun, I was late getting away: Not till about One-twenty on the sunlit Saturday Did my three-quarters-empty train pull ...
Listen my children and you shall hear Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, On the eighteenth of April, in ...
What the moral? Who rides may read. When the night is thick and the tracks are blind A friend at ...
Eyes of grey -- a sodden quay, Driving rain and falling tears, As the steamer wears to sea In a ...
I Some day I will go to Aarhus To see his peat-brown head, The mild pods of his eye-lids, His ...
Freezing dusk is closing Like a slow trap of steel On trees and roads and hills and all That can ...
It seldom snowed they said, perhaps they're right although seldom was never in that endless summer which tightened a fiery ...
My hands did numb to beauty as they reached into Death and tightened! O sovereign was my touch upon the ...
Gods, what a black, fierce day! The clouds were iron, Wrenched to strange, rugged shapes; the red sun winked Over ...
I. My heart sank with our Claret-flask, Just now, beneath the heavy sedges That serve this Pond's black face for ...
King Eochaid came at sundown to a wood Westward of Tara. Hurrying to his queen He had outridden his war-wasted ...
A wind is ruffling the tawny pelt Of Africa, Kikuyu, quick as flies, Batten upon the bloodstreams of the veldt. ...
There were still shards of an ancient pastoral in those shires of the island where the cattle drank their pools ...
Why should I blame her that she filled my days With misery, or that she would of late Have taught ...
In a vision Liberty stood By the childless charm-stricken bed Where, barren of glory and good, Knowing nought if she ...
Said President MacConnachie to Treasurer MacCall: "We ought to have a piper for our next Saint Andrew's Ball. Yon squakin' ...
Gold! We leapt from our benches. Gold! We sprang from our stools. Gold! We wheeled in the furrow, fired with ...
Who carved this shattered harp on my stone? I died to you, no doubt. But how many harps and pianos ...
Your door is shut against my tightened face, And I am sharp as steel with discontent; But I possess the ...
I. A NEGRO SERMON:-SIMON LEGREE (To be read in your own variety of negro dialect.) Legree's big house was white ...
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