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Há 1 dia · The fiddler knows what's brewing. To the lilt of his lyric wiles: The fiddler knows what rueing. Will come of this night 's smiles! He sees couples join them for dancing, And afterwards joining for life, He sees them pay high for their prancing. By a welter of wedded strife. He twangs: " Music hails from the devil,
Há 1 dia · Poem reads to me like a woman who was always looking far out and away for love and beauty, never up close, and as a result now cannot accept or believe in such love or beauty. I Stretching eyes west Over the sea, Wind foul or fair, Always stood she Prospect-impressed; Solely out there Did her gaze rest, Never elsewhere Se.
Há 6 dias · If you liked "A Week poem by Thomas Hardy" page. You should visit the pages below. Queen Elizabeth II Who is Roger Federer Roger Federer Quotes Queen Poems Poetry Search Poetry Poetry Books Biographies Today in History Best Poems Love Poems Beautiful Poems Happy Poems Sad Poems Christmas Poems Family Poems Birthday Poems Wedding Poems Submit a Poem Edgar Allan Poe Robert Frost Maya Angelou ...
Há 2 dias · And at whiles behind me, far at sea, a sullen thunder muttered. As I mounted high and higher. Till, the upper roadway quitting, I adventured on the open drouthy downland thinly grassed, While the spry white scuts of conies flashed before me, earthward flitting, And an arid wind went past.
14 de jun. de 2024 · The ray-lit clouds gleamed glory; and I thought, "There's solace everywhere!" Then bitter self-reproaches as I stood. I dealt me silently. As one perverse--misrepresenting Good. In graceless mutiny. Against the horizon 's dim-descernèd wheel. A form rose, strange of mould: That he was hideous, hopeless, I could feel.
Há 3 dias · Poems Quotes Books Biography Comments Images The Five Students The sparrow dips in his wheel -rut bath, The sun grows passionate-eyed, And boils the dew to smoke by the paddock-path; As strenuously we stride, - Five of us; dark He, fair He, dark She, fair She, I, All beating by.
Há 2 dias · As in a mirror a candle - flame. Shows images of itself, each frailer. As it recedes, though the eye may frame. Its shape the same. On the clock 's dull dial a foggy finger, Moving to set the minutes right. With tentative touches that lift and linger. In the wont of a moth on a summer night, Creeps to my sight.
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