The world forsaken, all its busy caresAnd stirring interests shunned with desperate flight,All trust abandoned in the healing mightOf virtuous action; all that courage dares,Labour accomplishes, or patience bearsThose helps rejected, they, whose minds perceiveHow subtly works man's weakness, sighs may heaveFor such a One beset with cloistral snares.Father of Mercy! rectify his … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour In Italy, 1837 – XVI. – Continued, By: William Wordsworth
For A Sunday’s Requiem, By: Charlie Shields
Secretious morn held aftly the solemn souls that quickened to their lead laden posts,adorned with the half-absent bodies of their friends.Cold, crisp air, moistened by the early hours dew, seeped past each soldiers ear,harking the silence of death's sweeping scythe.Rounds upon rounds of coiled wire, nashed with shredding teeth,encircled the men's position.Rounds upon rounds of … [Read more...] about For A Sunday’s Requiem, By: Charlie Shields
Memorials Of A Tour In Italy, 1837 – XV. – At The Convent Of Camaldoli, By: William Wordsworth
Grieve for the Man who hither came bereft,And seeking consolation from above;Nor grieve the less that skill to him was leftTo paint this picture of his lady-love:Can she, a blessed saint, the work approve?And oh, good Brethren of the cowl, a thingSo fair, to which with peril he must cling,Destroy in pity, or with care remove.That bloom, those eyes, can they assist to … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour In Italy, 1837 – XV. – At The Convent Of Camaldoli, By: William Wordsworth
The Proposal, By: Andrew Cyr
Seth leaned against the cornerof his streakless loftliving room window.He shoved his hands insideof his tan jean pockets.Seth blinked back despair.A dinner date with Natalia’s parentswent to hell.Seth asked her father about giving Nataliaa ring.He laughed at Seth and warmthrushed through his cheeks,quenching his ego.Seth excused himself from the table.He returned home.It was … [Read more...] about The Proposal, By: Andrew Cyr
Memorials Of A Tour In Italy, 1837 – XIX. – At Florence, By: William Wordsworth
Under the shadow of a stately Pile,The dome of Florence, pensive and alone,Nor giving heed to aught that passed the while,I stood, and gazed upon a marble stone,The laureled Dante's favourite seat. A throne,In just esteem, it rivals; though no styleBe there of decoration to beguileThe mind, depressed by thought of greatness flown.As a true man, who long had served the lyre,I … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour In Italy, 1837 – XIX. – At Florence, By: William Wordsworth