The Me Within Thee Blind! (Dora Sigerson Shorter Poems)
I At the convent doors, full of alarm She stood, like a young bird quitting its nest. Her first flight ...
I At the convent doors, full of alarm She stood, like a young bird quitting its nest. Her first flight ...
IThe sister Hours in circles linked,Daughters of men, of men the mates,Are gone on flow with the day that winked,With ...
1.I AM a little weary of my life—Not thy life, blessed Father! Or the bloodToo slowly laves the coral shores ...
A CHORUS OF HUMAN SPIRITS IN THE MIST.FAR in the shuddering spaces of the NorthWe live. We saw a ShapeOf ...
IOn her great venture, Man,Earth gazes while her fingers dint the breastWhich is his well of strength, his home of ...
Close thy Byron; open thy Goethe. —CarlyleSome half-a-dozen years or so, When life had yet no crown of iron,I took ...
Through the city's narrow gatewayForth an aged beggar fares,None is there to give him escort,And no farewell word he bears.Heaven's ...
Day, like our souls, is fiercely dark; What then? 'Tis day!We sleep no more; the cock crows-hark! ...
OH, but life went gaily, gaily,In the house of Idiedaily!There were always throats to singDown the river-banks with spring,When the ...
WHEN maidens such as Hester dieTheir place ye may not well supply,Though ye among a thousand try With ...
How beastly the bourgeois is especially the male of the species-- Presentable, eminently presentable-- shall I make you a present ...
The world has had enough of bards who wish that they were dead, 'Tis time the people passed a law ...
I. Fair Isabel, poor simple Isabel! Lorenzo, a young palmer in Love's eye! They could not in the self-same mansion ...
THE two were silent in a sunless church, Whose mildewed walls, uneven paving-stones, And wasted carvings passed antique research; And ...
SHE will not sleep, for fear of dreams, But, rising, quits her restless bed, And walks where some beclouded beams ...
I am like, They tell me, my dear father. Broader brows Howbeit, upon a slenderer undergrowth Of delicate ...
A Letter To My Aunt Discussing The Correct Approach To Modern Poetry To you, my aunt, who would explore The ...
Especially when the October wind With frosty fingers punishes my hair, Caught by the crabbing sun I walk on fire ...
THE wind has swept from the wide atmosphere Each vapour that obscured the sunset's ray, And pallid Evening twines its ...
Bare-handed, I hand the combs. The man in white smiles, bare-handed, Our cheesecloth gauntlets neat and sweet, The throats of ...
(1) This is the sea, then, this great abeyance. How the sun's poultice draws on my inflammation. Electrifyingly-colored sherbets, scooped ...
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