Admin

[TENOR] Oh, what a lovely day again! were it a new-made world, and made for a summer-house to the angels, and this morning the first of its throwing open to them, a fairer day could not dawn upon the world…

Now, as desire and the things desired Cease to require attention, As, seizing its chance, the body escapes, Section by section, to join Plants in their chaster peace which is more To its real taste, now a day is its past, Its last deed…

In my daydream College for Bards, the curriculum would be as follows: 1) In addition to English, at least one ancient language, probably Greek or Hebrew, and two modern languages would be required. 2) Thousands of lines of poetry in these languages…

“O where are you going?” said reader to rider “That valley is fatal where furnaces burn Yonder’s the midden whose odours will madden That gap is the grave where the tall return.” “O do you imagine,” said fearer to farer…

Out on the lawn I lie in bed, Vega conspicuous overhead In the windless nights of June, As congregated leaves complete Their day’s activity; my feet Point to the rising moon. Lucky, this point in time and space Is chosen as…

I could draw its map by heart, showing its contours, strata and vegetation, name every height, small burn and lonely sheiling, but nameless to me, faceless as heather or grouse, are those who live there, its dead too vague for judgement, tangible only…

As all the pigs have turned back into menAnd the sky is auspicious and the seaCalm as a clock, we can all go home again. Yes, it undoubtedly looks as if weCould take life as easily now as talesWrite ever-after:…

I In a garden shady this holy lady With reverent cadence and subtle psalm, Like a black swan as death came on Poured forth her song in perfect calm: And by ocean’s margin this innocent virgin Constructed an organ to enlarge her prayer,…

Dear Son, when the warm multitudes cry,Ascend your throne majestically,But keep in mind the waters where fishSee sceptres descending with no wishTo touch them; sit regal and erect,But imagine sands where a crownHas the status of a broken-downSofa or mutilated…

Good little sunbeams must learn to fly, But it’s madly ungay when the goldfish die. One act is censored, Prospero, My audience is my own; Nor Adrian nor Francisco know The drama that Antonio Plays in his head alone.