When John O’Dick Comes A-Courtin’ (Dorothy Una Ratcliffe Poems)
When John o' Dick comes a-courtin',We sit togither on t' lang-settle;John watches me, an' I watch t' kettleBoilin'; I can ...
When John o' Dick comes a-courtin',We sit togither on t' lang-settle;John watches me, an' I watch t' kettleBoilin'; I can ...
With brain o'erworn, with heart a summer clod, With eye so practised in each form around,- And all forms mean,-to ...
They could not tell me who should be my lord, But I could read from every word they said The ...
Muse of my native land! loftiest Muse! O first-born on the mountains! by the hues Of heaven on the spiritual ...
As you plaited the harvest bow You implicated the mellowed silence in you In wheat that does not rust But ...
Crouch'd on the pavement close by Belgrave Square A tramp I saw, ill, moody, and tongue-tied; A babe was in ...
Go, for they call you, shepherd, from the hill; Go, shepherd, and untie the wattled cotes! No longer leave thy ...
I am like, They tell me, my dear father. Broader brows Howbeit, upon a slenderer undergrowth Of delicate ...
I loved you- even now I may confess Some embers of my love their fire retain But do not let ...
STANDING IN EDEN 1 Poetry claimed me young on Skegness beach Before I was born I answered her cry For ...
O purblind race of miserable men, How many among us at this very hour Do forge a life-long trouble for ...
I. WINTER IN NORTHUMBERLAND OUTSIDE the garden The wet skies harden; The gates are barred on The summer side: "Shut ...
One pearly day of early May I strolled upon the sand, And saw, say half-a-mile away A man with gun ...
Tired with all these, for restful death I cry, As, to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimm'd ...
O, how I faint when I of you do write, Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, And in ...
My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still, While comments of your praise, richly compiled, Reserve their character with golden ...
Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain, Lest sorrow lend me ...
Tired with all these, for restful death I cry, As to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimmed ...
O, how I faint when I of you do write, Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, And in ...
My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still, While comments of your praise, richly compiled, Reserve their character with golden ...
Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain; Lest sorrow lend me ...
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