#Americans
Will people accept them? (i.e. these songs). As a timorous wench from a centaur (or a centurion), Already they flee, howling in terr…
Io! Io! Tamuz! The Dryad staiids in my court-yar… With plaintive, querulous crying. (Tamuz. Io! Tamuz!) Oh, no, she is not crying: ‘Tamuz…
1 his papier-mâché, which you see,… Saith ’twas the worthiest of edito… Its mind was made up in 'the seven… Nor hath it ever since changed tha… It works to represent that school…
Zeus lies in Ceres’ bosom Taishan is attended of loves under Cythera, before sunrise And he said: “Hay aquí mucho cato… catolithismo
They say the roads of Sanso are s… Sheer as the mountains. The walls rise in a man’s face, Clouds grow out of the hill at his horse’s bridle.
The girl in the tea shop Is not so beautiful as she was, The August has worn against her. She does not get up the stairs so… Yes, she also will turn middle—age…
`Tis of my country that I would e… In hope to set some misconceptions… My country? I love it well, and t… Who, since their wit’s unknown, es… But you stuffed coats who’re neith…
The clouds have gathered and gathe… and the rain falls and falls, The eight ply of the heavens are all folded into one darkness, And the wide flat road stretches o…
Erinna is a model parent, Her children have never discovered… Lalage is also a model parent, Her offspring are fat and happy.
For three years, out of key with h… He strove to resuscitate the dead… Of poetry; to maintain “the sublim… In the old sense. Wrong from the… No, hardly, but seeing he had been…
O My songs, Why do you look so eagerly and so… people’s faces, Will you find your lost dead among…
At the table beyond us With her little suede slippers off… With her white-stocking’d feet Carefully kept from the floor by a… She converses:
I ha’ seen them 'mid the clouds on… Lo! they pause not for love nor fo… Yet their eyes are as the eyes of… When the white hart breaks his cov… And the white wind breaks the morn…
The nightingale has a lyre of gold… The lark’s is a clarion-call, And the blackbird plays but a boxw… But I love him best of all. For his song is all of the joy of…
The surges gushed and sounded, The blue was the blue of June, And low above the brightening east Floated a shred of moon. The woods were black and solemn,
