Octaves (Edwin Arlington Robinson Poems)
I We thrill too strangely at the master's touch; We shrink too sadly from the larger self Which for its ...
I We thrill too strangely at the master's touch; We shrink too sadly from the larger self Which for its ...
"They called it Annandale-and I was there To flourish, to find words, and to attend: Liar, physician, hypocrite, and friend, ...
The ghost of Ninon would be sorry now To laugh at them, were she to see them here, So brave ...
I Said the Watcher by the Way To the young and the unladen, To the boy and to the maiden, ...
Faint white pillars that seem to fade As you look from here are the first one sees Of his house ...
Fear, like a living fire that only death Might one day cool, had now in Avon's eyes Been witness for ...
I say no more for Clavering Than I should say of him who fails To bring his wounded vessel home ...
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