Teatro Bambino. Dublin, N. H. (Amy Lowell Poem)
How still it is! Sunshine itself here falls In quiet shafts of light through the high trees Which, arching, make ...
How still it is! Sunshine itself here falls In quiet shafts of light through the high trees Which, arching, make ...
I How fresh the Dartle's little waves that day! A steely silver, underlined with blue, And flashing where the round ...
The stars hang thick in the apple tree, The south wind smells of the pungent sea, Gold tulip cups are ...
1 A yellow band of light upon the street Pours from an open door, and makes a wide Pathway of ...
Slowly, without force, the rain drops into the city. It stops a moment on the carved head of Saint John, ...
Softly the water ripples Against the canoe's curving side, Softly the birch trees rustle Flinging over us branches wide. Softly ...
I The Trumpet-Vine Arbour The throats of the little red trumpet-flowers are wide open, And the clangour of brass beats ...
A drifting, April, twilight sky, A wind which blew the puddles dry, And slapped the river into waves That ran ...
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