Стихи и рассказы из категории the poet

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What instinct forces man to journey on, Urged by a longing blind but dominant
Nothing he sees can hold him, nothing daunt His never failing eagerness
The sun Setting in splendour every night has won His vassalage; those towers flamboyant...
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Only on me, the lonely one,
The unending stars of the night shine,
The stone fountain whispers its magic song,
To me alone, to me the lonely
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HE blackbird's in the briar,
The seagull's on the ground-They are nests, and they're more than nests," he said,"They are tokens I have found
There, where the rain-dashed
Marks an empty glade,
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Until he hears Apollo's call To make a hallowed sacrifice,
A Poet lives in feeble thrall To people's empty vanities;
And silent is his sacred lyre,
His soul partakes of chilly sleep,
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There was strength in him and the weak won freely from it, There was an infinite pity, and hard hearts grew soft thereby,
There was truth so unshrinking and starry-shining, Men read clear by its light and learned to scorn a lie
His were ...
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