Classic poem of the day
From street and square, from hill and glen,
Of this vast world beyond my door,
I hear the tread of marching men,
The patient armies of the poor.
Not ermine-clad or clothed in state,
Their title-deeds not yet made plain,
But waking early, toiling late,
The heirs of all the earth remain.
The peasant brain shall yet be wise,
The untamed pulse grow calm and still;
The blind shall see, the lowly rise,
And work in pe......
Member poem of the day
The first of her
came to me on the first night.
She was a woman of mystery
who sang the blues.
The second of her
came to me on the second night.
She had a history
like no other.
The third of her
came to me on the third night.
She was bright and cheery
and full with the fire
that makes life.
The fourth of her
came to me on the fourth night.
The fire was catastrophic.
The blue ......
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