Marjorie (Edgar Albert Guest Poems)
The house is as it was when she was here;There's nothing changed at all about the place;The books she loved ...
The house is as it was when she was here;There's nothing changed at all about the place;The books she loved ...
The humble bee is hiding In the blossom's golden cells;He, and he only, can tell me Where the queen of ...
Last night the Stork came stalking,And, Stork, beneath your wingLay, lapped in dreamless slumber,The tiniest little thing!From Babyland, out yonderBeside ...
ST. LAURENCE is a church beside the sea, Kissed by the southern wind perpetually. Those who may care to make ...
Fearful of beauty, I always went Timidly indifferent: Dainty, hesitant, taking in Just what was tiniest and thin; Careful not ...
...Having dug out treachery beneath meI end something of life in ending mecum-vade, Made up of a hundred pearls threaded ...
Tiniest of turtles!Your shining backIs a shell of orangeWith spots of black.How trustingly you walkAcross this landOf hairgrass and hollows ...
O month whose promise and fulfilment blend, And burst in one! it seems the earth can store In all her ...
The day is turning ghost, And scuttles from the kalendar in fits and furtively, To join the anonymous host Of ...
All this was written on the next day's list. On which the busyness unfurled its cursive roots, pale but effective, ...
Aha! a traitor in the camp, A rebel strangely bold,-- A lisping, laughing, toddling scamp, Not more than four years ...
Last night the Stork came stalking, And, Stork, beneath your wing Lay, lapped in dreamless slumber, The tiniest little thing! ...
You ought to know Mr. Mistoffelees! The Original Conjuring Cat-- (There can be no doubt about that). Please listen to ...
All in the golden afternoon Full leisurely we glide; For both our oars, with little skill, By little arms are ...
All in the golden afternoon Full leisurely we glide; For both our oars, with little skill, By little arms are ...
There are too many waterfalls here; the crowded streams hurry too rapidly down to the sea, and the pressure of ...
SPLENDOR of ended day, floating and filling me! Hour prophetic-hour resuming the past! Inflating my throat-you, divine average! You, Earth ...
Three maids there were in meadow bright, The eldest less then seven; Their eyes were dancing with delight, And innocent ...
Kind solace in a dying hour! Such, father, is not (now) my theme- I will not madly deem that power ...
I I have loved England, dearly and deeply, Since that first morning, shining and pure, The white cliffs of Dover ...
There is a solemn wind to-night That sings of solemn rain; The trees that have been quiet so long Flutter ...
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