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 ...
St. Regimund, e'er he became a saint,Was much imbued with vulgar earthly taint;E'er he renounced the honors of a KnightAnd ...
Hope is the shadowy essence of a wish, A fond desire which floats before our eyes;With lurid aberration, feverish,-- We ...
Mother, our greetings be to thee,On the glad anniversary Of this, thy festive day;Thy daughters, daughters not of earth,But bound ...
The fragrant perfume of the flowers,Exuding in the summer hours,E'en as the altar's incense rareDisseminated through the air,May never reach ...
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