The Vision Of Piers Plowman – Part 14 (William Langland Poems)
'I have but oon hool hater,' quod Haukyn, 'I am the lasse to blameThough it be soiled and selde clene ...
'I have but oon hool hater,' quod Haukyn, 'I am the lasse to blameThough it be soiled and selde clene ...
'I am Spes, a spie,' quod he, 'and spire after a knyghtThat took me a maundement upon the mount of ...
' I am Ymaginatif,' quod he, 'ydel was I nevere,Though I sitte by myself, in siknesse nor in helthe.I have ...
'Sire Dowel dwelleth,' quod Wit, 'noght a day hennesIn a castel that Kynde made of foure kynnes thynges.Of erthe and ...
In Windsor Terrace, number four, I've taken my abode-A little crescent from the street, A bight from City Road;And, hard up and ...
An' SO 'e's dead in London, An' answered to the call,An' trotted through the Long Street, With 'earse an' plumes an' all?We ...
Oh what will you give me?Say the sad bells of Rhymney.Is there hope for the future?Cry the brown bells of ...
Dear Jock, - Like some aul' cairter's mear I'm foonert i' the feet,An' oxter-staffs are feckless things fan a' the ...
In Fanscomb Barn (who knows not Fanscomb Barn?) Seated between the sides of rising Hills, Whose airy Tops o'erlook the ...
Let others tell of far away, Of peoples strange and cities gay, Of mighty hills and rushing streams, More fair ...
Tis true of courage I'm no mistressNo Boadicia nor ThalestrissNor shall I e'er be famed hereafterFor such a Soul as ...
As ek vanaand so moedersielAlleen hier by die vuurherd sit,Dan borrel my geheue op,En maak my hart en siel uit ...
December 10: 1282Llanyis on Irfon, thine oaks in the drearRed eve of December are wind-swept and sere,Where a king by ...
The miller by the shore am I, A man o' despert sense;I've fotty different soorts o' ways O' ...
H'it's h'easy to be 'appy,Don't you know;There's no sense in being snappy,Don't you know;Wot's the use h'of being grumpy,H'or a ...
(June, 1903) O Tintern, Tintern! evermore my dreams Troubled by thy grave beauty shall be born; Thy ...
From Woolwich and Brentford and Stamford Hill, from Richmond into the Strand, Oh, the Cockney soul is a silent soul ...
the winding wye curls into my senses feliniously there's no such word but no such river merely exists where this ...
Tis true of courage I'm no mistress No Boadicia nor Thalestriss Nor shall I e'er be famed hereafter For such ...
There were still shards of an ancient pastoral in those shires of the island where the cattle drank their pools ...
Three jolly Farmers Once bet a pound Each dance the others would Off the ground. Out of their coats They ...
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