I lived from 1835-1906.
I was from England, and am in the English category.
My poetry
Twelve o'clock—a misty night—
Glimpsing hints of buried light—
43 lines
Soulless, colorless strain, thy words are the words of wisdom. Is not a mule a mule, bear he a burden of gold?
1 lines
First-born and final relic of the night,
I dwell aloof in dim immensity;
24 lines
Our crocodile, (Psammarathis,
A priest at Ombi, told me this,)
24 lines
This little light is not a little sign
Of duteous service innocent of blame,
14 lines
I will not rail or grieve when torpid eld
Frosts the slow-journeying blood, for I shall see
14 lines
Poet, whose unscarr'd feet have trodden Hell,
By what grim path and dread environing
14 lines
I saw the youthful singers of my day
To sound of lutes and lyres in morning hours
14 lines
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