Poetry
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by:
David Morton
WOODEN SHIPSThey are remembering forests where they grew,—The midnight quiet, and the giant dance;And all the murmuring summers that they knewAre haunting still their altered circumstance.Leaves they have lost, and robins in the nest,Tug of the goodly earth denied to ships,These, and the rooted certainties, and rest,—To gain a watery girdle at the hips.Only the wind that follows ever aft,They greet...
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SIGNELIL The Lady her handmaid to questioning took:“Why dost thou so sickly and colourless look?” But sorrow gnaws so sorely! “’Tis little wonder if sickly I’m growing, Malfred my lady!So much am I busied with cutting and sewing.” “Erewhile was thy cheek as the blooming rose red,But now thou art pale, even pale as the dead.” “To conceal the truth longer ’tis vain to essay,My...
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by:
Arthur Symons
BEING A WORD ON BEHALF OF PATCHOULI. AN ingenuous reviewer once described some verses of mine as "unwholesome," because, he said, they had "a faint smell of Patchouli about them." I am a little sorry he chose Patchouli, for that is not a particularly favourite scent with me. If he had only chosen Peau d'Espagne, which has a subtle meaning, or Lily of the Valley, with which I have...
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LET ME SING OF WHAT I KNOWA wild west Coast, a little Town,Where little Folk go up and down,Tides flow and winds blow:Night and Tempest and the Sea,Human Will and Human Fate:What is little, what is great?Howsoe'er the answer be,Let me sing of what I know.Adieu to Belashanny!where I was bred and born;Go where I may, I'll think of you,as sure as night and morn.The kindly spot, the friendly...
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by:
Various
I. Peace, peace, thou over-anxious, foolish heart,Rest, ever-seeking soul, calm, mad desires,Quiet, wild dreams—this is the time of sleep.Hold her more close than life itself. ForgetAll the excitements of the day, forgetAll problems and discomforts. Let the nightTake you unto herself, her blessed self.Peace, peace, thou over-anxious, foolish heart,Rest, ever-seeking soul, calm, mad desires,Quiet,...
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SMALL MEANS AND GREAT ENDS; OR, THE WIDOW'S POT OF OIL. BY JULIA A. FLETCHER. "Oh! how I do wish I was rich!" said Eliza Melvyn, dropping her work in her lap, and looking up discontentedly to her mother; "why should not I be rich as well as Clara Payson? There she passes in her father's carriage, with her fine clothes, and haughty ways; while I sit here—sew—sewing—all day...
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PREFACE. In issuing this collection of Songs, the author makes the following acknowledgments:— "The American Ça ira" was suggested while reading the French song of that name, from which song the phrase ça ira alone was appropriated. In "The Song of William the Conqueror," his characteristic oath, "By the splendor of God!" is used. In the "Death Song of the Enfants...
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by:
Clara M. Beede
TO NEW YORKFor maid and lad New York is fairy land,Delightful charms in gorgeous brilliant lure!Our youth do struggle on ambition's tour.They meet life's challenge with true heart and hand.Forgotten trails are marked with scar and wand;A blasted rock and broken twigs assureThe traveler that others fought the moor,And sailed the stormy breakers, crossed the sandTo build the city on a granite...
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Some one like you makes the heart seem the lighter, Some one like you makes the day's work worth while, Some one like you makes the sun shine the brighter, Some one like you makes a sigh half a smile. Life's an odd pattern of briers and roses, Clouds sometimes darken, nor sun shining through, Then the cloud lifts and the sun light discloses Near to me, dear to me—Some one like you. Some one...
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by:
Thomas Burke
Buying and Selling Throughout the day I sit behind the counter of my shop And the odours of my country are all about me— Areca nut, and betel leaf, and manioc, Lychee and suey sen, Li-un and dried seaweed, Tchah and sam-shu; And these carry my mind to half-forgotten days When tales were plentiful and care was hard to hold. All day I sell for trifling sums the wares of my...
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