God, consider the soul's need
of Owain son of Urien!
Let's go see Old Abe
Sitting in the marble and the moonlight,
He's gone. I do not understand.
The Turn
Brave infant of Saguntum, clear
Before Geraint, the enemy's scourge,
I saw white horses, tensed, red,
Urien of Yrechwydd most generous of Christian men,
much do you give to the people of your land;
I vow to thee, my country-all earthly things
above-
When painters leave this world, we grieve
For the hand that will work no more,
Ah. Iago, my friend, whom the ignorant people thought
The last of your kind, since all the wealth you brought
Behind him lay the gray Azores,
Behind the Gates of Hercules;
BREATHES there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
She didn't know she was beautiful, though her smiles were dawn,
Brother, today I sit on the brick bench of the house,
where you make a bottomless emptiness.
The snow-white Olympic swan, with beak of rose-red agate,
1
Your face was lifted to the golden sky
Hay un lugar que yo me sé
en este mundo, nada menos,
The street
filled with tomatoes
Oh, Paddy dear, and did you hear
The news that's going round,
When faint and sad o'er sorrow's desert wild Slow journeys onward poor misfortune's child;
Your lips were so laughing
Langston man
Brothers and men that shall after us be,
Let not your hearts be hard to us:
Black Man o' Mine, If the world were your lover,
John Maynard! " Who is John Maynard?"
John Gilbert was a bushranger
Of terrible renown
Give me a harsh land to wring music from,
brown hills, and dust, with dead grass
No more I hail the morning's golden gleam, No more the wonders of the view I sing;
Hang it all, Slessor, as Pound once said to Browning,
Why have you sailed so untimely out on the water
When the old Cutty Sark goes to sea again,
Crowding on her flying kites once more,
Harried we were, and spent,
broken and falling,
Cicely Fox Smith
1st February 1882
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