Friday, December 30, 2022
Tuesday, December 27, 2022
Tuesday, December 20, 2022
Thursday, December 15, 2022
Tuesday, December 13, 2022
Thursday, December 8, 2022
Tuesday, December 6, 2022
Thursday, December 1, 2022
Tuesday, November 29, 2022
Friday, November 25, 2022
Tuesday, November 22, 2022
Thursday, November 17, 2022
Tuesday, November 15, 2022
Thursday, November 10, 2022
Tuesday, November 8, 2022
Thursday, November 3, 2022
Tuesday, November 1, 2022
Thursday, October 27, 2022
FROM THE ITALIAN OF MICHAEL ANGELO by William Wordsworth
Tuesday, October 25, 2022
Thursday, October 20, 2022
Tuesday, October 18, 2022
Thursday, October 13, 2022
Tuesday, October 11, 2022
Thursday, October 6, 2022
Tuesday, October 4, 2022
WRITTEN IN LONDON, September, 1802 by William Wordsworth
Thursday, September 29, 2022
Tuesday, September 27, 2022
Thursday, September 22, 2022
Tuesday, September 20, 2022
Thursday, September 15, 2022
ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY, COUSIN TO THE AUTHOR, AND VERY DEAR TO HIM By Lord Byron
Tuesday, September 13, 2022
Thursday, September 8, 2022
SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT by William Wordsworth
Tuesday, September 6, 2022
To Quilca, a country-house in no very good repair by Jonathan Swift
Thursday, September 1, 2022
Tuesday, August 30, 2022
Thursday, August 25, 2022
Tuesday, August 23, 2022
Thursday, August 18, 2022
Tuesday, August 16, 2022
I TRAVELL'D AMONG UNKNOWN MEN by William Wordsworth
Thursday, August 11, 2022
THE RECORDER'S SPEECH EXPLAINED BY THE TORIES by Jonathan Swift
Tuesday, August 9, 2022
Thursday, August 4, 2022
Monday, August 1, 2022
I KNOW A PLACE WHERE SUMMER STRIVES by Emely Dickinson
Friday, July 29, 2022
Tuesday, July 26, 2022
Thursday, July 21, 2022
Tuesday, July 19, 2022
Thursday, July 14, 2022
Tuesday, July 12, 2022
Tuesday, July 5, 2022
Thursday, June 30, 2022
Tuesday, June 28, 2022
Thursday, June 23, 2022
Tuesday, June 21, 2022
PERHAPS YOU'D LIKE TO BUY A FLOWER? by Emily Dickinson
Thursday, June 16, 2022
AN EPIGRAM INSCRIBED TO THE HONOURABLE SERGEANT KITE by Jonathan Swift
Tuesday, June 14, 2022
Thursday, June 9, 2022
Tuesday, June 7, 2022
IF I CAN STOP ONE HEART FROM BREAKING by Emily Dickinson
Thursday, June 2, 2022
Tuesday, May 31, 2022
Thursday, May 26, 2022
Tuesday, May 24, 2022
Thursday, May 19, 2022
Tuesday, May 17, 2022
Thursday, May 12, 2022
Tuesday, May 10, 2022
Thursday, May 5, 2022
I HEAR AN ARMY CHARGING UPON THE LAND by James Joyce
Tuesday, May 3, 2022
Thursday, April 28, 2022
ROSE'S SONG from THE VILLAGE COQUETTES by Charles Dickens
Tuesday, April 26, 2022
Thursday, April 21, 2022
Tuesday, April 19, 2022
Thursday, April 14, 2022
Tuesday, April 12, 2022
EPITAPH ON A BELOVED FRIEND by Lord Byron
Oh, Friend! for ever lov'd, for ever dear!
What fruitless tears have bathed thy honour'd bier!
What sighs re-echo'd to thy parting breath,
Whilst thou wast struggling in the pangs of death!
Could tears retard the tyrant in his course;
Could sighs avert his dart's relentless force;
Could youth and virtue claim a short delay,
Or beauty charm the spectre from his prey;
Thou still hadst liv'd to bless my aching sight,
Thy comrade's honour and thy friend's delight.
If yet thy gentle spirit hover nigh
The spot where now thy mouldering ashes lie,
Here wilt thou read, recorded on my heart,
A grief too deep to trust the sculptor's art.
No marble marks thy couch of lowly sleep,
But living statues there are seen to weep;
Affliction's semblance bends not o'er thy tomb,
Affliction's self deplores thy youthful doom.
What though thy sire lament his failing line,
A father's sorrows cannot equal mine!
Though none, like thee, his dying hour will cheer,
Yet other offspring soothe his anguish here:
But, who with me shall hold thy former place?
Thine image, what new friendship can efface?
Ah, none!--a father's tears will cease to flow,
Time will assuage an infant brother's woe;
To all, save one, is consolation known,
While solitary Friendship sighs alone.
Thursday, April 7, 2022
LUCY'S SONG by Charles Dickens
Love is not a feeling to pass away,
Like the balmy breath of a summer day;
It is not--it cannot be--laid aside;
It is not a thing to forget or hide.
It clings to the heart, ah, woe is me!
As the ivy clings to the old oak tree.
Love is not a passion of earthly mould,
As a thirst for honour, or fame, or gold:
For when all these wishes have died away,
The deep strong love of a brighter day,
Though nourished in secret, consumes the more,
As the slow rust eats to the iron's core.
Tuesday, April 5, 2022
Thursday, March 31, 2022
Tuesday, March 29, 2022
Monday, March 28, 2022
Friday, March 25, 2022
INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT OF A NEWFOUNDLAND DOG by Lord Byron
INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT OF A NEWFOUNDLAND DOG