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Há 3 dias · Into the jaws of Death, Into the mouth of Hell. Rode the six hundred. Flash'd all their sabres bare, Flash'd as they turn'd in air. Sabring the gunners there, Charging an army, while. All the world wonder'd: Plunged in the battery-smoke.
26 de mai. de 2024 · Alfred Tennyson, 1st Baron Tennyson (6 August 1809 – 6 October 1892) was an English poet. He was the Poet Laureate during much of Queen Victoria's reign. In 1829, Tennyson was awarded the Chancellor's Gold Medal at Cambridge for one of his first pieces, "Timbuktu". He published his first solo collection of poems, Poems, Chiefly Lyrical, in 1830.
19 de mai. de 2024 · The little bird pipeth--'why? why?'. And stares in his face, and shouts 'how? how?'. And chants 'how? how?' the whole of the night. Why the life goes when the blood is spilt? What the life is? where the soul may lie? And a house with a chimney-pot? Who will riddle me the how and the what? Who will riddle me the what and the why? I am any man's ...
Há 1 dia · Down shower the gambolling waterfalls. From wandering over the lea; Out of the live-green heart of the dells. They freshen the silvery-crimson shells, And thick with white bells the clover-hill swells. High over the full-toned sea. O, hither, come hither and furl your sails, Come hither to me and to me;
Há 2 dias · Till thy dark lord accept and love the Sun, And all the Shadow die into the Light, When thou shalt dwell the whole bright year with me, And souls of men, who grew beyond their race, And made themselves as Gods against the fear Of Death and Hell; and thou that hast from men, As Queen of Death, that worship which is Fear, Henceforth, as having risen from out the dead, Shalt ever send thy life ...
9 de mai. de 2024 · Emily Dickinson (2414 poems) 2. Madison Julius Cawein (1231 poems) 3. Ella Wheeler Wilcox (1136 poems) 4. William Wordsworth (1016 poems) 5. Robert Burns (986 poems) 6. Edgar Albert Guest (945 poems) 7. Thomas Moore (849 poems) 8. Robert Service (831 poems)
23 de mai. de 2024 · One tall Agavè above the lake. I pluck'd a daisy, I gave it you. And now it tells of Italy. And gray metropolis of the North. My fancy fled to the South again. O love, what hours were thine and mine, In lands of palm and southern pine; In lands of palm, of orange-blossom, Of olive, aloe, and maize and vine.
