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poetry

The tower-room

There is a room serene and fair,
All palpitant with light and air;
Free from the dust, world’s noise and fuss -
God’s Tower-room in each of us.

Oh! many a stair our feet must press,

Our Little Ghost

Louisa May Alcott

OFT, in the silence of the night,
When the lonely moon rides high,
When wintry winds are whistling,
And we hear the owl's shrill cry,
In the quiet, dusky chamber,

Pied Beauty

GLORY be to God for dappled things—
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;

Over the May Hill

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

All through the night time, and all through the day time,
Dreading the morning and dreading the night,
Nearer and nearer we drift to the May time

Phantom

All look and likeness caught from earth
All accident of kin and birth,
Had pass'd away. There was no trace
Of aught on that illumined face,
Uprais'd beneath the rifted stone

Peace should not come

Peace should not come along this foul, earth way.
Peace should not come, until we cleanse the path.
God waited for us; now in awful wrath
He pours the blood of men out day by day

Old Ironsides

Ay, tear her tattered ensign down!
Long has it waved on high,
And many an eye has danced to see
That banner in the sky;
Beneath it rung the battle shout,

On the Sea

It keeps eternal whisperings around
Desolate shores, and with its mighty swell
Gluts twice ten thousand caverns, till the spell
Of Hecate leaves them their old shadowy sound.

Past Carin

NOW up and down the siding brown
The great black crows are flyin’,
And down below the spur, I know,
Another ‘milker’s’ dyin’;
The crops have withered from the ground,

On The Same

Henry Fielding

WHILE men shun Oulus as a fool,
Dames prize him as a beau;
What judgment form we by this rule?
Why this it seems to shew.
Those apprehend the beau's a fool,

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