Ode To The Setting Sun (Francis Thompson Poems)
Alpha and Omega, sadness and mirth, The springing music, and its wasting breath--The fairest things in life are Death and ...
Alpha and Omega, sadness and mirth, The springing music, and its wasting breath--The fairest things in life are Death and ...
An ode after Easter.Cast wide the folding doorways of the East,For now is light increased!And the wind-besomed chambers of the ...
Oh, but the heavenly grammar did I holdOf that high speech which angels' tongues turn gold!So should her deathless beauty ...
Lo, in the sanctuaried East,Day, a dedicated priestIn all his robes pontifical exprest,Lifteth slowly, lifteth sweetly,From out its Orient tabernacle ...
I Secret was the garden; Set i' the pathless awe Where no star its breath can draw. ...
Athwart the sod which is treading for God * the poet paced with hissplendid eyes;Paradise-verdure he stately passes * to ...
'To Monica'Summer set lip to earth's bosom bare,And left the flushed print in a poppy there:Like a yawn of fire ...
From Hugo's 'Feuilles d'Automne'.I love the evenings, passionless and fair, I love the evens,Whether old manor-fronts their ray with golden ...
Shrewd winds and shrill--were these the speech of May?A ragged, slag-grey sky--invested so,Mary's spoilt nursling! wert thou wont to go?Or ...
Now with wan ray that other sun of Song Sets in the bleakening waters of my soul:One step, and lo! ...
The wailful sweetness of the violin Floats down the hush-ed waters of the wind,The heart-strings of the throbbing harp begin ...
O you, love's mendicancy who never tried, How little of your almsman me you know!Your little languid hand in mine ...
I looked, she drooped, and neither spake, and cold,We stood, how unlike all forecasted thoughtOf that desir-ed minute! Then I ...
I fear to love thee, Sweet, because Love's the ambassador of loss; White flake of childhood, clinging so To my ...
To Monica Summer set lip to earth's bosom bare, And left the flushed print in a poppy there: Like a ...
I fear to love thee, Sweet, because Love's the ambassador of loss; White flake of childhood, clinging so To my ...
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