A Book Of Strife In The Form Of The Diary Of An Old Soul – July (George MacDonald Poems)
1.ALAS, my tent! see through it a whirlwind sweep!Moaning, poor Fancy's doves are swept away.I sit alone, a sorrow half ...
1.ALAS, my tent! see through it a whirlwind sweep!Moaning, poor Fancy's doves are swept away.I sit alone, a sorrow half ...
Tell me no more, no moreOf my soul's lofty gifts! Are they not vainTo quench its haunting thirst for happiness?Have ...
When the Stabber's speech had ended,And his presents all were gathered,And his pipe the chiefs had all smoked,Four young chiefs ...
Rabbi Ben Horad was a learned man, Of gentle ways, who taught a pious flock,So small, at morn and eve ...
OR OF THE BEGINNINGS OF THE HUMAN RACE. Illustrious fathers of the human race, Of you, the song of your ...
I (_Before He Comes_) Sweet under swooning blue and mellow mist September waves of forest overflow The hills with crimson, ...
I stood upon a crowded thoroughfare,Within a city's confines, where were metAll classes and conditions, and surveyed,From a secluded niche ...
FISH, oh Fish,So little matters!Whether the waters rise and cover the earthOr whether the waters wilt in the hollow places,All ...
I_Sailor William is dead. And now Toll the great bells disconsolate. Let the maiden have time for tearsEre you ...
IIn the pale mauve twilight, streaked with orange, Exquisitely sweet,— She leaned upon her balcony and looked across the street; ...
Fall'n was the House of Giafar; and its name,The high romantic name of Barmecide,A sound forbidden on its own bright ...
Old Eben Flood, climbing alone one night Over the hill between the town below And the forsaken upland hermitage That held as much as he should ever know On earth again of home, paused warily. The road was his with not a native near; And Eben, having leisure, said aloud, For no man else in Tilbury Town to hear: "Well, Mr. Flood, we have the harvest moon Again, and we may not have many more; The bird is on the wing, the poet says, And you and I have said it here before. Drink to the bird." He raised up to the light The jug that he had gone so far to fill, And answered huskily: "Well, Mr. Flood, Since you propose it, I believe I will." Alone, as if enduring to the end A valiant armor of scarred hopes outworn, He stood there in the middle of the road Like Roland's ghost winding a silent horn. Below him, in the town among the trees, Where friends of other days had honored him, A phantom salutation of the dead Rang thinly till old Eben's eyes were dim. Then, as a mother lays her sleeping child Down tenderly, fearing it may awake, He set the jug down slowly at his feet With trembling care, knowing that most things break; And only when assured that on firm earth It stood, as the uncertain lives of men Assuredly did not, he paced away, And with his hand extended paused again: "Well, Mr. Flood, we have not met like this In a long time; and many a change has come To both of us, I fear, since last it was We had a drop together. Welcome home!" Convivially returning with himself, Again he raised the jug up to the light; And with an acquiescent quaver said: "Well, Mr. Flood, if you insist, I might. "Only a very little, Mr. Flood — For auld lang syne. No more, sir; that will do." So, for the time, apparently it did, And Eben evidently thought so too; For soon amid the silver loneliness Of night he lifted up his voice and sang, Secure, with only two moons listening, Until the whole harmonious landscape rang — "For auld lang syne." The weary throat gave out, The last word wavered; and the song being done, He raised again the jug regretfully And shook his head, and was again alone. There was not much that was ahead of him, And there was nothing in the town below — Where strangers would have shut the many doors That many friends had opened long ago.(Edwin Arlington Robinson)
A youth went forth to exile, from a homeSuch as to early thought gives images,The longest treasur'd, and most oft ...
"The ridge is open to all moody weather: The bruisings of the blizzard leave it numb; From the scorched south ...
THE dawn hangs heavy on the distant hill,The darkness shudders slowly into light;And from the weary bosom of the nightThe ...
Of course, the familiar rustling of programs, My hair mussed from behind by a grand gesture Of mink. A little ...
IAS lightly as a filmy veilThat folds the April larch,My tenderest joy drops like a dreamDown from the buds of ...
What cheer, Imperial Mountain? Titan, hail!Thy distant crest gleams in the morning-light, Like a small shallop's broad and snowy sail,Over ...
CHORUSSince they are crumbling, turn on the radio,The streets, dogs, god's all assetsEPISODELoosens out of our hands, spills out everythingWe ...
And should she die, her grave should beUpon the bare top of a sunny hill,Among the moorlands of her own ...
I am alone-oh be thou near to me, Great God! from whom the meanest are not far. Not ...
and the sun wields mercybut like a jet torch carried to high,and the jets whip across its sightand rockets leap ...
I."Carry me out of the host, for I am wounded."The battle waged strong.A fainting soul was borne from the host.The ...
MY God, who art the God of loneliness, Who, Life of human souls, art yet alone, Who, Lord of joy, ...
Within the night, above the dark,I heard a host upon the air,Upon the void they made no mark,For all that ...
DICKENS"The only book that the party had was a volume of Dickens. During the six months that they lay in ...
I LOVE you, rotten,Delicious rottenness.I love to suck you out from your skinsSo brown and soft and coming suave,So morbid, ...
Through what long heaviness, assayed in what strange fire, Have these white monks been brought into the way of ...
I.BEYOND his silent vault green springs went by, The river flashed along its open way, Blithe swallows flitted ...
October, brown October, with his slowAnd melancholy step, has left the hills And comes upon the plains. The wild winds ...
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