My Lady’s Lamantation And Complaint Against The Dean (Jonathan Swift Poems)
Sure never did man seeA wretch like poor Nancy,So teazed day and nightBy a Dean and a Knight.To punish my ...
Sure never did man seeA wretch like poor Nancy,So teazed day and nightBy a Dean and a Knight.To punish my ...
where we live the flowers of the clocks catch fire and the plumes encircle the brightness in the distant sulphur ...
The Mighty Mother, and her son who brings The Smithfield muses to the ear of kings, I sing. Say you, ...
IRed SlippersRed slippers in a shop-window, and outside in the street, flaws of grey,windy sleet!Behind the polished glass, the slippers ...
STUDY IN WHITES Wax-white- Floor, ceiling, walls. Ivory shadows Over the pavement Polished to cream surfaces By constant sweeping. The ...
A high bare field, brown from the plough, and borne Aslant from sunset; amber wastes of sky Washing the ridge; a clamour of crows that fly In from the wide flats where the spent tides mourn To yon their rocking roosts in pines wind-torn; A line of grey snake-fence, that zigzags by A pond and cattle; from the homestead nigh The long deep summonings of the supper horn. Black on the ridge, against that lonely flush, A cart, and stoop-necked oxen; ranged beside Some barrels; and the day-worn harvest-folk, Here emptying their baskets, jar the hush With hollow thunders. Down the dusk hillside Lumbers the wain; and day fades out like smoke.(Charles G. D. Roberts)
Eye standing up eye lying down eye sittingWhy wander about between two hedges made of stair-rails while the ladders become ...
Study in Whites Wax-white -- Floor, ceiling, walls. Ivory shadows Over the pavement Polished to cream surfaces By constant sweeping. ...
Relax. This won't last long. Or if it does, or if the lines make you sleepy or bored, give in ...
An imaginary composer.] I. Hist, but a word, fair and soft! Forth and be judged, Master Hugues! Answer the question ...
where we live the flowers of the clocks catch fire and the plumes encircle the brightness in the distant sulphur ...
Frowning, the owl in the oak complained him Sore, that the song of the robin restrained him Wrongly of slumber, ...
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