White Nassau (Bliss Carman Poem)
There is fog upon the river, there is mirk upon the town; You can hear the groping ferries as they ...
There is fog upon the river, there is mirk upon the town; You can hear the groping ferries as they ...
I The rutted roads are all like iron; skies Are keen and brilliant; only the oak-leaves cling In the bare ...
O all the little rivers that run to Hudson's Bay, They call me and call me to follow them away. ...
I like the old house tolerably well, Where I must dwell Like a familiar gnome; And yet I never shall ...
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