An Epistle To Sir John Blount City: London (Nicholas Amhurst Poems)
Wonder not Blount, whose magick HandLifts to the Clouds thy native Land,That in these busy, golden Times,Thy Ears are teaz'd ...
Wonder not Blount, whose magick HandLifts to the Clouds thy native Land,That in these busy, golden Times,Thy Ears are teaz'd ...
Oft hast thou heard it, that old true saying,'Tis like and unlike makes the happiest music.Then, gravely smiling, scorn me ...
It is not the fear of death That damps my brow; It is not for another breath I ask thee now; I can die ...
O GOD! how sad a doom is mine,To human seeming:Thou hast called on me to resignSo much--much!--all--but the divineDelights of ...
On the next morning,--so by heavenly Voice Instructed,--unto Pharaoh went again Moses and Aaron; craving to be heard, Because of ...
'Twas on a gloomy afternoon When all the world was out of tune, And lover's lot amiss, When Chloe, waiting ...
Unto a soul there came the spectre Strife,To teach him of the bitterness of life;And then came Grief, to mock ...
I SALUTED a nobody. I saw him in a looking-glass. He smiled-so did I. He crumpled the skin on his ...
Since you remember Nimmo, and arrive At such a false and florid and far drawn Confusion of odd nonsense, I ...
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