Those Days When Love Doesn't Work: Poems (Main Street Rag's Editor's Select Poetry) e-book
Published by Main Street Ra.
Published by Main Street Rag. More Details. 1930907532 (ISBN13: 9781930907539). Lists with This Book. This book is not yet featured on Listopia.
Are you sure you want to remove Those days when love doesn't work from your list? . 2004, Main Street Rag Pub.
2004, Main Street Rag Pub. Co. in English.
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Main Street and other poems/Main Street. lt; Main Street and other poems. For S. M. LIKE to look at the blossomy track of the moon upon the sea, But it isn't half so fine a sight as Main Street used to be When it all was covered over with a couple of feet of snow, And over the crisp and radiant road the ringing sleighs would go.
When a man goes out to work he is alive like a tree in spring, he is living, not merely .
When a man goes out to work he is alive like a tree in spring, he is living, not merely working. Men might put them forth as a snail its shell, as a bird that leans its breast against its nest, to make it round, as the turnip models his round root, as the bush makes flowers and gooseberries, putting them forth, not manufacturing them, and cities might be as once they were, bowers grown out from the busy bodies of people. All poems are shown free of charge for educational purposes only in accordance with fair use guidelines.
In school, Russians were forced to learn plenty of poems by heart, as it's supposed to help in training memory. School students even have special tests, when one has to recite a poem by heart in front of the whole class. A little stressful, but thanks to that, many adult Russians remember all these beautiful poems. The Dragonfly & the Ant. Ivan Krylov by Karl Bryullov.
A city street that is busy and wide is ground by a thousand wheels, And a burden of traffic on its breast is all it. .
A city street that is busy and wide is ground by a thousand wheels, And a burden of traffic on its breast is all it ever feels: It is dully conscious of weight and speed and of work that never ends, But it cannot be human like Main Street, and recognise its friends. There were only about a hundred teams on Main Street in a day, And twenty or thirty people, I guess, and some children out to play. And there wasn't a wagon or buggy, or a man or a girl or a boy. That Main Street didn't remember, and somehow seem to enjoy. The truck and the motor and trolley car and the elevated train
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That Nature breathes among the hills and groves. When, having left his Mountains, to the Towers. When from behind that craggy Steep, till then. When, having left his Mountains, to the Towers When from behind that craggy Steep, till then. The bound of the horizon, a huge Cliff, As if with voluntary power instinct