Marching Song (Robert Louis Stevenson Poems)
Bring the comb and play upon it! Marching, here we come! Willie cocks his highland bonnet, Johnnie beats the drum. ...
Bring the comb and play upon it! Marching, here we come! Willie cocks his highland bonnet, Johnnie beats the drum. ...
So shall this book wax like unto a well, Fairy with mirrored flowers about the brim, Or like some tarn ...
When at home alone I sit And am very tired of it, I have just to shut my eyes To ...
THOUGH deep indifference should drowse The sluggish life beneath my brows, And all the external things I see Grow snow-showers ...
THEY tell me, lady, that to-day On that unknown Australian strand - Some time ago, so far away - Another ...
Resign the rhapsody, the dream, To men of larger reach; Be ours the quest of a plain theme, The piety ...
AS in their flight the birds of song Halt here and there in sweet and sunny dales, But halt not ...
COME, here is adieu to the city And hurrah for the country again. The broad road lies before me Watered ...
WHEN Thomas set this tablet here, Time laughed at the vain chanticleer; And ere the moss had dimmed the stone, ...
COME, my little children, here are songs for you; Some are short and some are long, and all, all are ...
With half a heart I wander here As from an age gone by A brother yet- though young in years, ...
LOUD and low in the chimney The squalls suspire; Then like an answer dwindles And glows the fire, And the ...
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