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/ page 38 of 246 /A Spirit's Return
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Thou knewest me not in life's fresh vernal morn -
I would thou hadst! - for then my heart on thine
Had poured a worthier love; now, all o'erworn
By its deep thirst for something too divine,
It hath but fitful music to bestow,
Echoes of harp-strings broken long ago.
Queen Mab: Part II.
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
If solitude hath ever led thy steps
To the wild ocean's echoing shore,
Porphyrion
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Yet into vacancy the troubled heart
Brings its own fullness: and Porphyrion found
The void a prison, and in the silence chains.
I Mustn't Forget
© Edgar Albert Guest
I mustn't forget that I'm gettin' old,
That's the worst thing ever a man can do.
The Warrior's Return
© Amelia Opie
Sir Walter returned from the far Holy Land,
And a blood-tinctured falchion he bore;
But such precious blood as now darkened his sword
Had never distained it before.
Marmion: Canto V. - The Court
© Sir Walter Scott
Oh! young Lochinvar is come out of the west,
Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;
And save his good broadsword, he weapons had none,
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone;
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.
To A Friend Writing On Cabaret Dancers
© Ezra Pound
Good Hedgethorn', for we'll anglicize your name
Until the last slut's hanged and the last pig disembowelled,
Seeing your wife is charming and your child
Sings in the open meadow at least the kodak says so
Stanzas In Meditation: Stanza V
© Gertrude Stein
Why can pansies be their aid or paths.
He said paths she had said paths
Monody, Written At Matlock
© William Lisle Bowles
Matlock! amid thy hoary-hanging views,
Thy glens that smile sequestered, and thy nooks
The Poor Of The Borough. Letter XX: Ellen Orford
© George Crabbe
"No charms she now can boast,"--'tis true,
But other charmers wither too:
You Men
© Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz
(Español)
Hombres necios que acusáis
a la mujer sin razón,
sin ver que sois la ocasión
de lo mismo que culpáis:
Sonnet XXXVIII. To Oliver Wendell Holmes. Aet 70.
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
A FOUNTAIN in our green New England hills
Sent forth a brook, whose music, as I stood
To listen, laughed and sang through field and wood
With mingled melodies of joyous rills.
Glenfinlas; or, Lord Ronald's Coronach
© Sir Walter Scott
"O hone a rie'! O hone a rie!"
The pride of Albin's line is o'er,
And fall'n Glenartney's stateliest tree;
We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more!" -
The Penitent's Return
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
My father's house once more,
In its own moonlight beauty! yet around,
Something, amidst the dewy calm profound,
Broods, never marked before!
King Cole
© George MacDonald
King Cole he reigned in Aureoland,
But the sceptre was seldom in his hand
The White Doe Of Rylstone, Or, The Fate Of The Nortons - Canto Fourth
© William Wordsworth
'Tis night: in silence looking down,
The Moon, from cloudless ether, sees
A Camp, and a beleaguered Town,
And Castle, like a stately crown
The Loving Shepherdess
© Robinson Jeffers
She dreamed that a two-legged whiff of flame
Rose up from the house gable-peak crying, "Oh! Oh!"
And doubled in the middle and fled away on the wind
Like music above the bee-hives.
When Ma Wants Something New
© Edgar Albert Guest
Last night Ma said to Pa: "My dear,
The Williamsons are coming here