Contrast (Robinson Jeffers Poems)
The world has many seas, Mediterranean, Atlantic, buthere is the shore of the one ocean.And here the heavy future hangs ...
The world has many seas, Mediterranean, Atlantic, buthere is the shore of the one ocean.And here the heavy future hangs ...
IFlat as to an eagle's eye,Earth hung under Attila.Sign for carnage gave he none.In the peace of his disdain,Sun and ...
Or,A Review of my Scholastic Days"O, Festus Dies Hominis!"-O, the Joyful Day of Man!Why, (when the hours of school-day bliss ...
Cuckoo, are you calling me,Or is it a voice of wizardry?In these woodlands I am lost,From glade to glade of ...
Of all the fountains that poets sing,--Crystal, thermal, or mineral spring,Ponce de Leon's Fount of Youth,Wells with bottoms of doubtful ...
Not in this green retreatHowever beautiful, while Summer launchesHer odors and soft airs through swaying branches;—Though wild flowers court our ...
In Dublin town I was brought up, in that city of great fame. My decent friends and parents, they will ...
There is a spot, far from the world's uproar, Amid great mountains,Where softly sleeps a lake, to whose still shore ...
There they stand, on their ends, the fifty fag gotsThat once were underwood of hazel and ashIn Jenny Pink's copse. ...
ONE scarce would think that we can be the sameWho used, in those first childish Junes, to creepWith held breath ...
YOUR rondeau's tale must still be light -- No bugle-call to life's stern fight! Rather a smiling interlude Memorial to ...
Muse of my native land! loftiest Muse! O first-born on the mountains! by the hues Of heaven on the spiritual ...
to a friend No! those days are gone away And their hours are old and gray, And their minutes buried ...
The world has many seas, Mediterranean, Atlantic, but here is the shore of the one ocean. And here the heavy ...
The Fire at Tranter Sweatley's THEY had long met o' Zundays--her true love and she-- And at junketings, maypoles, and ...
They had long met o' Zundays--her true love and she-- And at junketings, maypoles, and flings; But she bode wi' ...
When the pods went pop on the broom, green broom, And apples began to be golden-skinn'd, We harbour'd a stag ...
No cloud, no relique of the sunken day Distinguishes the West, no long thin slip Of sullen light, no obscure ...
'Twas after dread Pultowa's day, When fortune left the royal Swede - Around a slaughtered army lay, No more to ...
from Atalanta in Calydon When the hounds of spring are on winter's traces, The mother of months in meadow or ...
I used to think a pot of ink Held magic in its fluid, And I would ply a pen when ...
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