Festus – XXXVII (Philip James Bailey Poems)
Not on one plane indeviable, the soulMakes way, but moonlike waveringly as thoughNot to advance for a time content; the ...
Not on one plane indeviable, the soulMakes way, but moonlike waveringly as thoughNot to advance for a time content; the ...
I.1EVEN as water to him who thirsts wayfaring, dust-dry and burning,After sore heat and long stumbling in courses with never ...
Once on a clear autumnal day, With weary heart and spirit bowed,I sought a silent scene away From all the turmoil of ...
The glaring sun hath ceased to shine;The solemn stars invade the sky;Again the welcome night is mine,Wherein to view the ...
A true lover is proved such by his pain of heart;No sickness is there like sickness of heart.The lover's ailment ...
YOU ruffled black blossom,You glossy dark wind.Your sort of gorgeousness,Dark and lustrousAnd skinny repulsiveAnd poppy-glossy,Is the gorgeousness that evokes my ...
In Nature's bright blossoms not always reposesThat strange subtle essence more rare than their bloom,Which lies in the hearts of ...
I was tired of being a woman,tired of the spoons and the post,tired of my mouth and my breasts,tired of ...
She hailed from a very distant country,Nocturnal child of ancient times;She had no kin to greet her entryNot even skies ...
Three golden months while summer on us stoleI have read your joyful tale another time,Breathing more freely in that larger ...
Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind. Because the lover threw wild hands toward the sky And the affrighted ...
The new ergonomics were delivered just before lunchtime so we ignored them. Without revealing the particulars let me just say ...
The new ergonomics were delivered just before lunchtime so we ignored them. Without revealing the particulars let me just say ...
We sail out of season into on oyster-gray wind, over a terrible hardness. Where Dickens crossed with mal de mer ...
I was tired of being a woman, tired of the spoons and the post, tired of my mouth and my ...
There it was, word for word, The poem that took the place of a mountain. He breathed its oxygen, Even ...
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