The Wanderer (Christopher Brennan Poems)
When window-lamps had dwindled, then I roseand left the town behind me; and on my waypassing a certain door I ...
When window-lamps had dwindled, then I roseand left the town behind me; and on my waypassing a certain door I ...
The droning tram swings westward: shrillthe wire sings overhead, and chillmidwinter draughts rattle the glassthat shows the dusking way I ...
Sweet days of breaking light,or yet the shadowy mightand blaze of starry strifepossess'd my life;sweet dawn of Beauty's day,first hint ...
The yellow gas is fired from street to streetpast rows of heartless homes and hearths unlit,dead churches, and the unending ...
I cry to you as I pass your windows in the dusk; Ye have built you unmysterious homes and ways ...
Come out, come out, ye souls that serve, why will ye die? or will ye sit and stifle in your ...
I said, This misery must end: Shall I, that am a man and know that sky and wind are yet ...
Where the poppy-banners flow in and out amongst the corn, spotless morn ever saw us come and go ...
Each day I see the long ships coming into port and the people crowding to their rail, glad of the ...
THE PANGS that guard the gates of joy, the naked sword that will be kist, how distant seem'd they to ...
Of old, on her terrace at evening - not here - in some long-gone kingdom oh, folded close to her ...
Where star-cold and the dread of spacein icy silence bind the mainI feel but vastness on my face,I sit, a ...
Of old, on her terrace at evening …not here…in some long-gone kingdom O, folded close to her breast!… —our gaze ...
Dawns of the world, how I have known you all, so many, and so varied, and the same! dawns o'er ...
O WHITE wind, numbing the world to a mask of suffering hate! and thy goblin pipes have skirl'd all night, ...
What is there with you and me, that I may not forget but your white shapes come crowding noiselessly in ...
Sweet silence after bells!deep in the enamour'd earsoft incantation dwells.Filling the rapt still spherea liquid crystal swims,precarious yet clear.Those metal ...
Deep mists of longing blur the land as in your late October eve: almost I think your hand might leave ...
© 2020 Inspirational Stories