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| The Square type is so designated on account of the palm being like a square in shape, or at least nearly so. Such a hand in fact "looks square." It is rather straight or even at the wrist, at the base of the fingers, and also at the sides. The ... Read more of The Square Type at Palm Readings.org | Informational.ca Privacy |
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Wales PoetryBy The Rev Rees Prichard, Ma... The Cuckoo's Tale Hail, bird of sweet melody, heav'n is thy home; With the... The Lord Of Clas The Lord of Clas to his hunting is gone, Over plain and... Song Of The Foster-son, Love I got a foster-son, whose name was Love, From one endu... The Sick Man's Dream Dans le solitaire bourgade, Revant a ses maux triste... The Lament Op Llywarch Hen The bright hours return, and the blue sky is ringing ... My Father-land Land of the Cymry! thou art still, In rock and valley, str... The Legend Of Trwst Llywelyn Once upon a time, Llywelyn was returning from a great battl... To The Daisy Oh, flower meek and modest That blooms of all the soonest,... The Day Of Judgment was a native of Anglesea, and entered the Welsh Church... The Death Of Owain Lo! the youth, in mind a man, Daring in the battle's v... That Had Been Converted Into A May-pole In The Town Of Llanidloes, In Montgomeryshire Ah! birch tree, with the verdant locks, And reckless min... To The Spring Oh, come gentle spring, and visit the plain, Far scatte... The Deluge * * * * * Whether to the east or west You go, wondr... Old Morgan And His Wife Hus.--Jane, tell me have you fed the pigs, Their cry is ... The Vengeance Of Owain {96} Gruffydd ab Cynan, Prince of Gwynedd, or North Wales, and ... The Lily And The Rose Once I saw two flowers blossom In a garden 'neath the h... Ode To Cambria Cambria, I love thy genius bold; Thy dreadful rites, and... To May the following and several other poems in this collection. ... The Song Of The Fisherman's Wife Restless wave! be still and quiet, Do not heed the win... |
The Poor Man's GraveCategory: The Sentimental. 'Neath the yew tree's gloomy branches, Rears a mound its verdant head, As if to receive the riches Which the dew of heaven doth spread; Many a foot doth inconsiderate Tread upon the humble pile, And doth crush the turf so ornate:-- That's the Poor Man's Grave the while. The paid servants of the Union Followed mute his last remains, Piling the earth in fast confusion, Without sigh, or tear or pains; After anguish and privation, Here at last his troubles cease, Quiet refuge from oppression Is the Poor Man's Grave of peace. The tombstone rude with two initials, Carved upon its smoother side, By a helpmate of his trials, Is now split and sunder'd wide; And when comes the Easter Sunday, There is neither friend nor kin To bestow green leaves or nosegay On the Poor Man's Grave within. Nor doth the muse above his ashes Sing a dirge or mourn his end, And ere long time's wasting gashes Will the mound in furrows rend: Level with the earth all traces, Hide him in oblivion deep; Yet, for this, God's angel watches, O'er the Poor Man's Grave doth weep. Next: The Bard's Long-tried Affection For Morfydd Previous: The World And The Sea: A Comparison
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