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 ...
You that in vain would front the coming order With eyes that meet forlornly what they must, And only with ...
"Whether all towns and all who live in them- So long as they be somewhere in this world That we ...
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