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Há 3 dias · From the broad moonlight of the sky, Fanning the busy dreams from my dim eyes,--. Waken me when their Mother, the gray Dawn, Tells them that dreams and that the moon is gone. II. Then I arise, and climbing Heaven's blue dome, I walk over the mountains and the waves, Leaving my robe upon the ocean foam; My footsteps pave the clouds with fire ...
Há 2 dias · Gleams dimly--so the moon shone there, And it yellow 'd the strings of thy tangled hair, That shook in the wind of night. The moon made thy lips pale, belov {`e}d; The wind made thy bosom chill; The night did shed. On thy dear head. Its frozen dew, and thou didst lie. Where the bitter breath of the naked sky.
Há 1 dia · Victory Medal. Sir Oswald Ernald Mosley, 6th Baronet (16 November 1896 – 3 December 1980) was a British aristocrat and politician who rose to fame during the 1920s and 1930s when, having become disillusioned with mainstream politics, he turned to fascism. He was a member of parliament and later founded and led the British Union of Fascists (BUF).
Há 4 dias · Swifter far than happy night, Art thou come and gone--. As the earth when leaves are dead, As the night when sleep is sped, As the heart when joy is fled, I am left lone, alone. II. The swallow summer comes again--. The owlet night resumes her reign--.
Há 5 dias · In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken. The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother 's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder.
Há 3 dias · All extant baronetcies, including vacant baronetcies, are listed below in order of precedence (i.e. date). All other baronetcies, including those which are extinct, dormant or forfeit, are on a separate list of baronetcies. The list is current as of January 2024, when it was last updated. [1] The baronetcy lists include any peerage titles which ...
Há 3 dias · Ere the dawning of morn's undoubted light, Is the flame of life so fickle and wan. That flits round our steps till their strength is gone. O man! hold thee on in courage of soul. Through the stormy shades of thy wordly way, And the billows of clouds that around thee roll. Shall sleep in the light of a wondrous day, Where hell and heaven shall ...
