The Quails (Francis Brett Young Poems)
(In the south of Italy the peasants put out the eyes of a captured quailso that its cries may attract ...
(In the south of Italy the peasants put out the eyes of a captured quailso that its cries may attract ...
Before my window, in days of winter hoarHuddled a mournful wood:Smooth pillars of beech, domed chestnut, sycamore,In stony sleep they ...
When the evening came my love said to me: Let us go into the garden now that the sky is ...
Whither, O, my sweet mistress, must I follow thee? For when I hear thy distant footfall nearing, And wait on ...
Were there lovers in the lanes of Atlantis:Meeting lips and twining fingersIn the mild Atlantis springtime? How ...
All through that day of battle the broken soundOf shattering Maxim fore made mad the wood;So that the low trees ...
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