Rangoon (Ella Wheeler Wilcox Poems)
ust a changing sea of colourSurging up and flowing down;And pagodas shining golden, night and noon;And a sun-burst-tinted throngOf young ...
ust a changing sea of colourSurging up and flowing down;And pagodas shining golden, night and noon;And a sun-burst-tinted throngOf young ...
Cross-hatchings of rain against grey walls, Slant lines of black rain In front of the up and down, wet stone ...
Lights are burning In quiet rooms Where lives go on Resembling ours. The quiet lives That follow us- These lives ...
In Italy, where this sort of thing can occur, I had a vision once - though you understand It was ...
In the fairy tale the sky makes of itself a coat because it needs you to put it on. How ...
Here I am with my mother, hanging under the molt of years, in a garden of umbrellas and rubber boots, ...
The intact facade's now almost black in the rain; all day they've torn at the back of the building, "the ...
On the fair green hills of Rio There grows a fearful stain: The poor who come to Rio And can't ...
Southeast, and storm, and every weathervane shivers and moans upon its dripping pin, ragged on chimneys the cloud whips, the ...
I The bitterness. the misery, the wretchedness of childhood Put me out of love with God. I can't believe in ...
MOORING POSTS 1 The mooring posts marked on the South Leeds map Of 1908 still line the Aire's side, huge, ...
There was a girl who danced in the city that night, that April 22nd, all along the Charles River. It ...
The rain is raining all around, It falls on field and tree, It rains on the umbrellas here, And on ...
LET us go out of the fog, John, out of the filmy persistent drizzle on the streets of Stockholm, let ...
(for Rona, Jeremy, Sam & Grace) All the lizards are asleep-- perched pagodas with tiny triangular tiles, each milky lid ...
It so happens I am sick of being a man. And it happens that I walk into tailorshops and movie ...
He hangs on dangling handholds As the train sways and careens Endless nondescript buildings unfold Their secrets as the tired ...
On the day the world ends A bee circles a clover, A Fisherman mends a glimmering net. Happy porpoises jump ...
The old war is over the new one has begun between drivers and pedestrians on a Friday in New York ...
At the open door of the room I stand and look at the night, Hold my hand to catch the ...
People were bathing and posturing themselves on the beach, and all was dreary, great robot limbs, robot breasts, robot voices, ...
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