Oh Allumette, hemmed with thy fringe of pine, Watched over by thy mountains far away, Thy waters have been troubled oftentime, Never before as they have been to day! ...
Barada, oh father of all rivers Oh, horse that races the days Be, in our sad history, a prophet Who receives inspiration from his lord Millions acknowledge you as an Arab Prince... so pray as an imam...
The Text is from Allan Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany (1763). It was not included in the first edition (1724-1727), nor until the ninth edition in 1740, when to the original three volumes there was added a fourth, in which this ...
Stephen, wake up! There's some one at the gate. Quick, to the window ... Oh, you'll be too late! I hear the front door opening quietly. Did you forget, last night, to turn the key?...
Barbara Frietchie ban brave old hen, Her age it ban tree score and ten. She living in Frederick, Maryland, - It ban yust a dinky von night stand. But Barbara rise to fame, yu bet,...
'Tis just three months and eke a day, Since in the meadows, raking hay, On looking up I chanced to see The manor's lord, young Arnold Lee, With a loose hand on the rein, Riding slowly down the lane....
How death will steal, from life, to claim us all, Happy to wrap us in barbary white, By tapping ash tight fingers, the steel laws of fate, Will deaden our faces, wrapping our feelings from earthly sight.
At dawn of day the white land lay all gruesome-like and grim, When Bill Mc'Gee he says to me: "We've GOT to do it, Jim. We've got to make Fort Liard quick. I know the river's bad,...
Over the lapsing lagune all the day Urging my gondola with oar-strokes light, Always beside one shadowy waterway I pause and peer, with eager, jealous sight,...
Up the streets of Aberdeen, By the kirk and college green, Rode the Laird of Ury; Close behind him, close beside, Foul of mouth and evil-eyed, Pressed the mob in fury. ...
The girls all like to see the bluets in the lane And the saucy johnny-jump-ups in the meadow, But, we boys, we want to see the dogwood blooms again, Throwin' a sort of summer-lookin' shadow;...
The man about to become a sparrow is shouting his head off wearing green trousers with red eyes framing mustier tweed, he lambasts the lad for not conducting his person properly...
Still the sovereign trees Make the sundawn's breeze More bright, more sweet, more heavenly than it rose, As wind and sun fulfil Their living rapture: still Noon, dawn, and evening thrill...
Weep, Israel! your tardy meed outpour Of grateful homage on his fallen head, That never coronal of triumph wore, Untombed, dishonored, and unchapleted. If Victory makes the hero, raw Success...