Rose-Morals (Sidney Lanier Poems)
I. -- Red. Would that my songs might be What roses make by day and night -- Distillments of my ...
I. -- Red. Would that my songs might be What roses make by day and night -- Distillments of my ...
Oft seems the Time a market-town Where many merchant-spirits meet Who up and down and up and down Cry out ...
If haply thou, O Desdemona Morn, Shouldst call along the curving sphere, "Remain, Dear Night, sweet Moor; nay, leave me ...
A Story of Christmas Eve. Strange that the termagant winds should scold The Christmas Eve so bitterly! But Wife, and ...
Chapter I. Once on a time, a Dawn, all red and bright Leapt on the conquered ramparts of the Night, ...
Our hearths are gone out and our hearts are broken, And but the ghosts of homes to us remain, And ...
It was three slim does and a ten-tined buck in the bracken lay; And all of a sudden the sinister ...
For ever wave, for ever float and shine Before my yearning eyes, oh! dream of mine Wherein I dreamed that ...
My crippled sense fares bow'd along His uncompanioned way, And wronged by death pays life with wrong And I wake ...
To-day the woods are trembling through and through With shimmering forms, that flash before my view, Then melt in green ...
I. Sunrise. In my sleep I was fain of their fellowship, fain Of the live-oak, the marsh, and the main. ...
Written for the Art Autograph during the Irish Famine, 1880. Heartsome Ireland, winsome Ireland, Charmer of the sun and sea, ...
In the South lies a lonesome, hungry Land; He huddles his rags with a cripple's hand; He mutters, prone on ...
The innocent, sweet Day is dead. Dark Night hath slain her in her bed. O, Moors are as fierce to ...
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