I met Louisa in the shade,And, having seen that lovely Maid,Why should I fear to sayThat, nymph-like, she is fleet and strong,And down the rocks can leap alongLike rivulets in May? She loves her fire, her cottage-home;Yet o'er the moorland will she roamIn weather rough and bleak;And, when against the wind she strains,Oh! might I kiss the mountain rainsThat sparkle on her … [Read more...] about Louisa After Accompanying Her On A Mountain Excursion, By: William Wordsworth
Alive, By: Andrew Buckner
never more thana few miles fromhome i mournthe places I’ll nevertravel the villas,colosseums ofRome, Italy the castles,Alpine Lakesof Germany the religiouscenters, culturalislands, beaches of Japan will remain foreignsoil, an alien sensationonly hypothesized by the footthus, the toe willcontinue to curl downwards to the same gas stations,the same … [Read more...] about Alive, By: Andrew Buckner
Look Now On That Adventurer Who Hath Paid, By: William Wordsworth
Look now on that Adventurer who hath paidHis vows to Fortune; who, in cruel slightOf virtuous hope, of liberty, and right,Hath followed wheresoe'er a way was madeBy the blind Goddess, ruthless, undismayed;And so hath gained at length a prosperous height,Round which the elements of worldly mightBeneath his haughty feet, like clouds, are laid.O joyless power that stands by … [Read more...] about Look Now On That Adventurer Who Hath Paid, By: William Wordsworth
No Religion In Heaven, By: John RC Potter
Children…Oh, the children! Little girl,you were in the safe room,under attack,waiting for your parents to return,but it provided no protection.If only those men hadn’t heard,you crying…Little girl rest in perpetual peace,for your pain has found its surcease.Shalom… Little girl,you were in a car trying to escape,under attack,the only one still alive but … [Read more...] about No Religion In Heaven, By: John RC Potter
London, 1802, By: William Wordsworth
Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour:England hath need of thee: she is a fenOf stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen,Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower,Have forfeited their ancient English dowerOf inward happiness. We are selfish men;Oh! raise us up, return to us again;And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart:Thou … [Read more...] about London, 1802, By: William Wordsworth