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From childhood’s hour I have not beenAs others were; I have not seenAs others saw; I could not bringMy passions

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, Arrives the snow, and, driving o’er the fields, Seems nowhere to alight:

Beautiful star with the crimson lipsAnd flagrant daffodil hair,Come back, come back, in the shaking shipsO’er the much-overrated sea,To the

Beautiful star with the crimson lipsAnd flagrant daffodil hair,Come back, come back, in the shaking shipsO’er the much-overrated sea,To the

Little poppies, little hell flames, Do you do no harm? You flicker. I cannot touch you. I put my hands

Tobacco smoke has consumed the air. The room is a chapter in Kruchenykh’s inferno. Remember – beyond that window in

Rada, there’s a flower between her teeth, A flaming wild rose twig She’s spinning, jumping down Her hair is flying:

I ordered this, clean wood box Square as a chair and almost too heavy to lift. I would say it

Once a dream did weave a shadeO’er my angel-guarded bed,That an emmet lost its wayWhere on grass methought I lay.