On A Bird (Gavrila Romanovich Derzhavin Poems)
A sweet-voiced bird's been caught.They squeeze it in a vice-like grip.The poor thing squeaks and warbles notBut they insist: "O, ...
A sweet-voiced bird's been caught.They squeeze it in a vice-like grip.The poor thing squeaks and warbles notBut they insist: "O, ...
Hark, hearer, hear what I do; lend a thought now, make believe We are leafwhelmed somewhere with the hood Of ...
It was a wet wan hour in spring, And Nature met King Doom beside a lane, Wherein Hodge trudged, all ...
Now the golden Morn aloft Waves her dew-bespangled wing, With vermeil cheek and whisper soft She wooes the tardy Spring: ...
NO easy matter 'tis to hold, Against its owner's will, the fleece Who troubled by the itching smart Of Cupid's ...
My pensive SARA ! thy soft cheek reclined Thus on mine arm, most soothing sweet it is To sit beside ...
(Composed at Clevedon, Somersetshire) My pensive Sara! thy soft cheek reclined Thus on mine arm, most soothing sweet it is ...
WHERE contemplation finds her sacred spring, Where heav'nly music makes the arches ring, Where virtue reigns unsully'd and divine, Where ...
1 PROUD music of the storm! Blast that careers so free, whistling across the prairies! Strong hum of forest tree-tops! ...
THE groundflame of the crocus breaks the mould, Fair Spring slides hither o'er the Southern sea, Wavers on her thin ...
Faint gleams the evening radiance thro' the sky, The sober twilight dimly darkens round; In short quick circles the shrill ...
I Fires in the dark you build; tall quivering flames In the huge midnight forest of the unknown. Your soul ...
YE learned sisters, which have oftentimes Beene to me ayding, others to adorne, Whom ye thought worthy of your gracefull ...
WAke now my loue, awake; for it is time, The Rosy Morne long since left Tithones bed, All ready to ...
CALL it to mind, O my love. Dear were your eyes as the day, Bright as the day and the ...
THERE is a wolf in me . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . a red tongue for raw meat . ...
SWEET blushing Nymph, who loves to dwell In the dark forest's silent gloom; Who smiles within ...
'Tis strange that in a land so strong So strong and bold in mighty youth, We have no poet's voice ...
To Henry St. John, Lord Bolingbroke Awake, my St. John! leave all meaner things To low ambition, and the pride ...
The First Epistle Awake, my ST. JOHN!(1) leave all meaner things To low ambition, and the pride of Kings. Let ...
By that Lake, whose gloomy shore Sky-lark never warbles o'er, Where the cliff hangs high and steep, Young Saint Kevin ...
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