Death Of A Naturalist (Seamus Heaney Poem)
All year the flax-dam festered in the heart Of the townland; green and heavy headed Flax had rotted there, weighted ...
All year the flax-dam festered in the heart Of the townland; green and heavy headed Flax had rotted there, weighted ...
(a) they seek to celebrate the word not to bring their knives out on a poem dissecting it to find ...
She was thinner, with a mannered gauntness as she paused just inside the double glass doors to survey the room, ...
Awakening in the twenty four hour embrace of a few moments sleep, where half a lifetime eludes dreams; and feeling ...
I. The poem is important, but not more than the people whose survival it serves, one of the necessities, so ...
MADONNA, mistress, I would build for thee An altar deep in the sad soul of me; And in the darkest ...
The prophetic tribe of the ardent eyes Yesterday they took the road, holding their babies On their backs, delivering to ...
After the movie, when the lights come up, He takes her powdered hand behind the wings; She, all in yellow, ...
The city is closing for the night. Stores draw their blinds one by one, and it's dark again, save for ...
Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita mi ritrovai per una selva oscura ch? la diritta via era smarrita . ...
Memories bursting like tears or waves On some lonely Adriatic shore Beating again and again Threshings of green sea foam ...
Pellam the King, who held and lost with Lot In that first war, and had his realm restored But rendered ...
The cruel war was over -- oh, the triumph was so sweet! We watched the troops returning, through our tears; ...
Swing of the heart. O firmly hung, fastened on what invisible branch. Who, who gave you the push, that you ...
The first time I died, I walked my ways; I followed the file of limping days. I held me tall, ...
And if my heart be scarred and burned, The safer, I, for all I learned; The calmer, I, to see ...
Two Workmen were carrying a sheet of asbestos down the main street of Dingle; it must have been nailed, at ...
Doctor, you say there are no haloes around the streetlights in Paris and what I see is an aberration caused ...
I. Insomnia The bulb at the front door burns and burns. If it were a white rose it would tire ...
I loathed you, Spoon River. I tried to rise above you, I was ashamed of you. I despised you As ...
Aleta mentions in her tender letters, Among a chain of quaint and touching things, That you are feeble, weighted down ...
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