#Alliteration #Couplet #Imagery #Metaphor
The Moon, how definite its orb! Yet gaze again, and with a steady… 'Tis there indeed,—but where is it… It is suffused o’er all the sapphi… Trees, herbage, snake-like stream,…
Ere the birth of my life, if I wi… No question was asked me—it could… If the life was the question, a th… And to live on be YES; what can… NATURE’S ANSWER
Where is the grave of Sir Arthur… Where may the grave of that good m… By the side of a spring, on the br… Under the twigs of a young birch t… The oak that in summer was sweet t…
Hast thou a charm to stay the morn… In his steep course? So long he s… On thy bald awful head, O sovran… The Arve and Arveiron at thy base Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most a…
Come, come thou bleak December wi… And blow the dry leaves from the t… Flash, like a Love—thought, thro’… And take a Life that wearies me.
'With Donne, whose muse on dromed… Wreathe iron pokers into true-love… Rhyme’s sturdy cripple, fancy’s ma… Wit’s forge and fire-blast, meanin…
A green and silent spot, amid the… A small and silent dell! O’er sti… No singing sky-lark ever poised hi… The hills are heathy, save that sw… Which hath a gay and gorgeous cove…
Come, come thou bleak December wi… And blow the dry leaves from the t… Flash, like a Love-thought, thro’… And take a Life that wearies me.
Ter. But that entrance, Selma? Sel. Can no one hear? It is a per… Ter. No one. Sel. My husband’s father told it… Poor old Sesina—angels rest his s…
While my young cheek retains its h… And I have many friends who hold… L——! methinks, I would not often… Such melodies as thine, lest I sh… All memory of the wrongs and sore…
Water and windmills, greenness, I… Willows whose Trunks beside the s… Of their own higher half, and will… Farmhouses that at anchor seem’d—i… The fog-transfixing Spires—
O peace, that on a lilied bank dos… To rest thine head beneath an oliv… I would that from the pinions of t… One quill withouten pain yplucked… For oh! I wish my Sara’s frowns t…
Thicker than rain—drops on Novemb…
Ere on my bed my limbs I lay, It hath not been my use to pray With moving lips or bended knees; But silently, by slow degrees, My spirit I to Love compose,
As some vast Tropic tree, itself… That crests its Head with clouds,… Feeds its deep roots, and with the… Of its wide base controls the fron… (By the slant current’s pressure s…