Is it so, that the sword is broken, Our sword, that was halfway drawn? Is it so, that the light was a spark, That the bird we hailed as the lark Sang in her sleep in the dark,...
She stood among the longest ferns The valley held; and in her hand One blossom, like the light that burns Vermilion o'er a sunset land; And round her hair a twisted band...
Rhaicos was born amid the hills wherefrom Gnidos the light of Caria is discern'd And small are the white-crested that play near, And smaller onward are the purple waves....
Who thinks how desolate and strange To me must seem the autumn's change, When housed in attic or in chest, A lonely and unwilling guest, I lie through nights of bleak December,...
Malefica quaedam auguriatrix in Anglia fuit, quam demones horribiliter extraxerunt, et imponentes super equum terribilem, per aera rapuerunt; Clamoresque terribiles (ut ferunt) per quatuor ferme miliaria audiebantur. ...
Her tawny eyes are onyx of thoughtlessness, Hardened they are like gems in ancient modesty; Yea, and her mouth's prudent and crude caress Means even less than her many words to me. ...
'But tell me, child, your choice; what shall I buy You?' - 'Father, what you buy me I like best.' With the sweetest air that said, still plied and pressed, He swung to his first poised purport of reply. ...
The lights are out, and gone are all the guests That thronging came with merriment and jests To celebrate the Hanging of the Crane In the new house,--into the night are gone;...
In a rich land, fertile, replete with snails I'd like to dig myself a spacious pit Where I might spread at leisure myoid bones And sleep unnoticed, like a shark at sea. ...
One sunny morn of May, When dressed in flowery green The dewy landscape, charmed With Nature's fairest scene, In thoughtful mood I slowly strayed O'er hill and dale, Through bush and glade....
I saw sweet Poetry turn troubled eyes On shaggy Science nosing in the grass, For by that way poor Poetry must pass On her long pilgrimage to Paradise. He snuffled, grunted, squealed; perplexed by flies,...
I am tired of the day with its profitless labours, And tired of the night with its lack of repose, I am sick of myself, my surroundings, and neighbours,...
We were living in a flat; it was number eighty-three. At eighty-four the Barleys lived, a fearsome man was he. He had a wife and numerous kids. We heard then rip and cuss,...
We were storemen, clerks and packers on an ammunition dump Twice the size of Cootamundra, and the goods we had to hump They were bombs as big as water-butts, and cartridges in tons,...
Autumn, like an old poet in a haze Of golden visions, dreams away his days, So Hafiz-like that one may almost hear The singer's thoughts imbue the atmosphere;...