The Buried Life (Matthew Arnold Poem)
Light flows our war of mocking words, and yet, Behold, with tears mine eyes are wet! I feel a nameless ...
Light flows our war of mocking words, and yet, Behold, with tears mine eyes are wet! I feel a nameless ...
And the first grey of morning fill'd the east, And the fog rose out of the Oxus stream. But all ...
Go, for they call you, shepherd, from the hill; Go, shepherd, and untie the wattled cotes! No longer leave thy ...
I SING of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth, I sing of a Whistle, the pride of the North. Was ...
UPON that night, when fairies light On Cassilis Downans 2 dance, Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze, On sprightly ...
I mind me in the days departed, How often underneath the sun With childish bounds I used to run To ...
If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange And be all to me? Shall I never miss Home-talk and ...
I. ENOUGH ! we're tired, my heart and I. We sit beside the headstone thus, And wish that name were ...
O Rose! who dares to name thee? No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet; But pale, and hard, and ...
I. I stand on the mark beside the shore Of the first white pilgrim's bended knee, Where exile turned to ...
I tell you hopeless grief is passionless, That only men incredulous of despair, Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air ...
The bell struck one, and shook the silent tower; The graves give up their dead: fair Elenor Walk'd by the ...
How sweet I roam'd from field to field, And tasted all the summer's pride 'Til the prince of love beheld ...
arrive. The Ladies from the Ladies' Betterment League Arrive in the afternoon, the late light slanting In diluted gold bars ...
drunk on the dark streets of some city, it's night, you're lost, where's your room? you enter a bar to ...
There are sketches on the walls of men and women and ducks, and outside a large green bus swerves through ...
call it the greenhouse effect or whatever but it just doesn't rain like it used to. I particularly remember the ...
a symphony orchestra. there is a thunderstorm, they are playing a Wagner overture and the people leave their seats under ...
ah, christ, what a CREW: more poetry, always more P O E T R Y . if it doesn't come, ...
I cut the middle fingernail of the middle finger right hand real short and I began rubbing along her cunt ...
death wants more death, and its webs are full: I remember my father's garage, how child-like I would brush the ...
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