Metabole. (Alfred Castner King Poems)
AN APOSTROPHE TO THE MOON.O, silvery moon, fair mistress of the night,Thou mellow, ever vaccilating orb,How many eons of unmeasured ...
AN APOSTROPHE TO THE MOON.O, silvery moon, fair mistress of the night,Thou mellow, ever vaccilating orb,How many eons of unmeasured ...
There is a cliff, no matter where, Which softened by the agenciesOf rain, exposure to the air, And alternating thaw ...
Mother, our greetings be to thee,On the glad anniversary Of this, thy festive day;Thy daughters, daughters not of earth,But bound ...
Shall our memories live, when the sod rolls above us And marks our last home with a mouldering heap?Shall the ...
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