Though I have found you like a snow-drop pale, On sunny days have found you weak and still, Though I have often held your girlish head Drooped on my shoulder, faint from little ill: - ...
Look you, I'll go pray, My shame is crying, My soul is gray and faint, My faith is dying. Look you, I'll go pray - "Sweet Mary, make me clean, Thou rainstorm of the soul,...
The King of Yellow Butterflies, The King of Yellow Butterflies, The King of Yellow Butterflies, Now orders forth his men. He says "The time is almost here When violets bloom again."...
This poem is intended as a description of a sort of Blashfield mural painting on the sky. To be sung to the tune of Yankee Doodle, yet in a slower, more orotund fashion. It is presumably an exercise for an entertainment o...