days - Popular Poems and stories from category

In the glad springtime when leaves were green,
O merrily the throstle sings
I sought, amid the tangled sheen,
Love whom mine eyes had never seen,

The night too quickly passes And we are growing old,
So let us fill our glasses And toast the Days of Gold;
When finds of wondrous treasure Set all the South ablaze,
And you and I were faithful mates All through the roaring days

OM Belton Castle to Solway side,
Hard by the bridge, is three days' ride
"   We had fled full fast from her father's keep,
And the time was come that we must sleep

What are days for
Days are where we live
They come, they wake
Time and time over

South of my days' circle, part of my blood's country,rises that tableland, high delicate outlineof bony slopes wincing under the winter,low trees, blue-leaved and olive, outcropping granite-clean, lean, hungry country
The creek's leaf-silence...

The breezes waved the silver grass, Waist-high along the siding,
And to the creek we ne'er could pass Three boys on bare-back riding;
Beneath the sheoaks in the bend The waterhole was brimming -Do you remember yet, old friend, The times ...

We left Little Redfish for Lake Josephus, traveling along thegood names—from Stanley to Capehorn to Seafoam to
Rapid River, up Float Creek, past the Greyhound Mine andthen to Lake Josephus, and a few days after that up the trailto Hell-diver ...

Silence, and stealth of days
'tis now             Since thou art gone,
Twelve hundred hours, and not a brow             But clouds hang on
As he that in some cave's thick damp             Lockt from the light,

Through these pale cold days What dark faces burn Out of three thousand years, And their wild eyes yearn, While underneath their brows Like waifs their spirits grope For the pools of Hebron again— For Lebanon's summer slope
They leave these b...

"Only a pound," said the auctioneer,"Only a pound; and I'm standing
Selling this animal, gain or loss —Only a pound for the drover's horse
One of the sort that was ne'er afraid,
One of the boys of the Old Brigade;

The battery grides and jingles,
Mile succeeds to mile;
Shaking the noonday
The guns lunge out awhile,

We stopped at perfect daysand got out of the car
The wind glanced at her hair
It was as simple as that
I turned to say something—