Lo! where she stands fixed in a saint-like trance,One upward hand, as if she needed restFrom rapture, lying softly on her breast!Nor wants her eyeball an ethereal glance;But not the less, nay more, that countenance,While thus illumined, tells of painful strifeFor a sick heart made weary of this lifeBy love, long crossed with adverse circumstance.Would She were now as when she … [Read more...] about Miscellaneous Sonnets, 1842 – VIII – Lo! Where She Stands Fixed In A Saint-Like Trance, By: William Wordsworth
Poems
Echoes, By: Sam Calhoun
Under a glaring moonby a fire that leapt in burstslike moves from a long forgotten dance,we sat watching the trees swayin their own memories, as the leavesspun and flipped before making onelast arch toward that glass lake,the need to send out a ripple, a howl,like the coyotes on some far bank,their playground yelping like kids,an echo sent down this canyon,where closed caverns … [Read more...] about Echoes, By: Sam Calhoun
Miscellaneous Sonnets, 1842 – VII – Men Of The Western World, By: William Wordsworth
Men of the Western World! in Fate's dark bookWhence these opprobrious leaves of dire portent?Think ye your British Ancestors forsookTheir native Land, for outrage provident;From unsubmissive necks the bridle shookTo give, in their Descendants, freer ventAnd wider range to passions turbulent,To mutual tyranny a deadlier look?Nay, said a voice, soft as the south wind's … [Read more...] about Miscellaneous Sonnets, 1842 – VII – Men Of The Western World, By: William Wordsworth
The Longing, The Pindaric Ode, By: Pawel Markiewicz
You – such a dreamery born from Dionysian odes like tender day in Your winds – enchanted butterflies as the Golden Fleece – bewitched in my meek fantasy august paradise lost is thus found and so dreamy You lotus-like butterfly you – above volcanos with wing-bewitchment immortalized in the times I want to be such you and eternal thankful eyes a … [Read more...] about The Longing, The Pindaric Ode, By: Pawel Markiewicz
At My Window, By: James Young
Two tall pines, majestic trees,Tower above gabled eaves.Swaying gently, to and fro,Wither wind, or wither no.Crisp and green in winter's gray,Yet dark amidst the wan midday. … [Read more...] about At My Window, By: James Young




