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The Mother's Soul

© Isabella Valancy Crawford

When the moon was horned the mother died,

 And the child pulled at her hand and knee,

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Marjorie

© Edgar Albert Guest

The house is as it was when she was here;

There's nothing changed at all about the place;

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Everyday Characters I - The Vicar

© Winthrop Mackworth Praed

  Some years ago, ere time and taste

  Had turned our parish topsy-turvy,

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The Praise Of Dust

© Gilbert Keith Chesterton

'What of vile dust?' the preacher said.
  Methought the whole world woke,
The dead stone lived beneath my foot,
  And my whole body spoke.

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On The Big Horn

© John Greenleaf Whittier

THE years are but half a score,
And the war-whoop sounds no more
With the blast of bugles, where
Straight into a slaughter pen,

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Isolation

© Arthur Symons

When your lips seek my lips they bring
That sorrowful and outcast thing
My heart home from its wandering.

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The House Of Dust: Part 02: 06:

© Conrad Aiken

She turned her head on the pillow, and cried once more.

And drawing a shaken breath, and closing her eyes,

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Autumn Violets

© Christina Georgina Rossetti

Keep love for youth, and violets for the spring:

Of if these bloom when worn-out autumn grieves,

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The Bagman's Dog: Mr. Peters's Story

© Richard Harris Barham

It was a litter, a litter of five,
Four are drown'd and one left alive,
He was thought worthy alone to survive;
And the Bagman resolved upon bringing him up,
To eat of his bread, and to drink of his cup,
He was such a dear little cock-tail'd pup.

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Madeleine Vercheres

© William Henry Drummond

I've told you many a tale, my child, of the

  old heroic days

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Twenty-Second Sunday After Trinity

© John Keble

What liberty so glad and gay,
  As where the mountain boy,
Reckless of regions far away,
  A prisoner lives in joy?

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A Worm Will Turn

© William Schwenck Gilbert

I love a man who'll smile and joke
When with misfortune crowned;
Who'll pun beneath a pauper's yoke,
And as he breaks his daily toke,
Conundrums gay propound.

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The Reprieve

© Caroline Norton

"Oh! hear me, thou, who in the sunshine's glare
So calmly waitest till the warning bell
Shall of the closing hour of his despair
In gloomy notes of muffled triumph tell.

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From The Cuckoo And The Nightingale

© William Wordsworth

The God of Love-"ah, benedicite!"
How mighty and how great a Lord is he!
For he of low hearts can make high, of high
He can make low, and unto death bring nigh;
And hard-hearts he can make them kind and free.

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The barren music of a word or phrase,

© Christopher Morley

THE barren music of a word or phrase,
The futile arts of syllable and stress,
He sought. The poetry of common days
He did not guess.

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Who

© Sylvia Plath

The month of flowering's finished. The fruit's in,
Eaten or rotten. I am all mouth.
October's the month for storage.

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Memorabilia

© Edgar Lee Masters

Old pioneers, how fare your souls to-day?
They seem to be
Imminent about this pastoral way,
This sunny lea,

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The Two Thieves; Or, The Last Stage Of Avarice

© William Wordsworth

O NOW that the genius of Bewick were mine,
And the skill which he learned on the banks of the Tyne.
Then the Muses might deal with me just as they chose,
For I'd take my last leave both of verse and of prose.

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A Ballad Of Fair Ladies In Revolt

© George Meredith

See the sweet women, friend, that lean beneath
The ever-falling fountain of green leaves
Round the white bending stem, and like a wreath
Of our most blushful flower shine trembling through,
To teach philosophers the thirst of thieves:
Is one for me? is one for you?