A Dead Letter (Henry Austin Dobson Poems)
I DREW it from its china tomb;- It came out feebly scented With some thin ghost of past perfume That ...
I DREW it from its china tomb;- It came out feebly scented With some thin ghost of past perfume That ...
Let us begin and carry up this corpse,Singing together.Leave we the common crofts, the vulgar thorpesEach in its tetherSleeping safe ...
DEAR Agnes, gleamed with joy and dashed with tears,O'er us have glided almost sixty yearsSince we on Bothwell's bonny braes ...
BOCCACE alone is not my only source;T'another shop I now shall have recourse;Though, certainly, this famed Italian witHas many stories ...
It is, Sir, a confest intrusion hereThat I before your labours do appear,Which no loud Herald need, that may proclaimOr ...
"Give me of your bark, O Birch-tree!Of your yellow bark, O Birch-tree!Growing by the rushing river,Tall and stately in the ...
I.SEE where the man wakes late from his dreaming,Late in the night from the sleep that has been;See where regret ...
To Thomas HardyIOff the long headland, threshed about by round-backed breakers,There is a black rock, standing high at the full ...
Let us venerate the bonesOf patient Mercy Jones,Who lies underneath these stones.This is her story as once told to meBy ...
A CHRISTMAS LAY.I. Ah! the happy Christmas times! Times we all remember;-- Times that flung a ruddy glow O'er the gray December;-- Will they never ...
You were not over-patient with me, dear; This want of patience one must rightly rate:You are so young! Youth ever was ...
DEEP under the spires of a hill, by the feet of the thunder-cloud trod,I pause in a luminous, still, magnificent ...
O Land of Promise! from what Pisgah's height Can I behold thy stretch of peaceful bowers,Thy golden harvests flowing out of ...
ILike a gaunt, scraggly pine Which lifts its head above the mournful sandhills; And patiently, through dull years of bitter ...
How strange it seems! These Hebrews in their graves, Close by the street of this fair seaport town, Silent beside the never-silent ...
Fallentis semita vit*. - Hor.Near a small village in the West,Where many very worthy peopleEat, drink, play whist, and do ...
I.Here is the skull of a man: a man's thoughts and emotionsHave moved under the thin bone vault like cloudsUnder ...
In some quaint Nurnberg maler-atelierUprummaged. When and where was never clearNor yet how he obtained it. When, by whom'Twas painted—who ...
"Phoebe! Phoebe! Where is the chit? When I want her most she's out of the way.Child, you're running a long account Up, ...
What sorrows in my soul, O God! arise,The vast perverseness of mankind to see?Shou'd any strive to lead them to ...
Fair work for fair wages! -- it's all that we ask, An Englishman loves what is fair,We'll never complain of the ...
In the elephant's five-pound brainThe whole world's both table and shithouseWhere he wanders seeking viandes, exchanging great fartsFor compliments. The ...
A thing 'at's 'bout as tryin' as a healthy man kin meetIs some poor feller's funeral a-joggin' 'long the street:The ...
I HOLD a letter in my hand,-A flattering letter, more's the pity,-By some contriving junto planned,And signed per order of ...
FROM Venus born, thy beauty shows;But who thy father, no man knows:Nor can the skilful herald traceThe founder of thy ...
Rouse ye! torpid daylight-dreamers, cast your carking cares away!As calm air to troubled water, so my night is to your ...
ALTON.YOU see that man with the quick eyes and brow,Too ponderous almost for his slender frame,His dark locks tinged with ...
IMPRIMIS — My departed Shade I trust To Heav'n — My Body to the silent Dust; My Name to publick Censure I submit, To be dispos'd of as the World thinks fit; My Vice and Folly let Oblivion close, The World already is o'erstock'd with those; My Wit I give, as Misers give their Store, To those who think they had enough before. Bestow my Patience to compose the Lives Of slighted Virgins and neglected Wives; To modish Lovers I resign my Truth, My cool Reflexion to unthinking Youth; And some Good-nature give ('tis my Desire) To surly Husbands, as their Needs require; And first discharge my Funeral — and then To the small Poets I bequeath my Pen. Let a small Sprig (true Emblem of my Rhyme) Of blasted Laurel on my Hearse recline; Let some grave Wight, that struggles for Renown, By chanting Dirges through a Market-Town, With gentle Step precede the solemn Train; A broken Flute upon his Arm shall lean. Six comick Poets may the Corse surround, And All Free-holders, if they can be found: Then follow next the melancholy Throng, As shrewd Instructors, who themselves are wrong. The Virtuoso, rich in Sun-dry'd Weeds, The Politician, whom no Mortal heeds, The silent Lawyer, chamber'd all the Day, And the stern Soldier that receives no Pay. But stay — the Mourners shou'd be first our Care, Let the freed Prentice lead the Miser's Heir; Let the young Relict wipe her mournful Eye, And widow'd Husbands o'er their Garlick cry. All this let my Executors fulfil, And rest assur'd that this is Mira's Will, Who was, when she these Legacies design'd, In Body healthy, and compos'd in Mind. (Mary Leapor)
Child of the boundless prairie, son of the virgin soil, Heir to the bearing of burdens, brother to them that toil; God ...
ONE day a sage knocked at a chemist's door,Bringing a curious compound to explore.--'Behold ! said he, as from his ...
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