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	<title>Classic Poetry</title>
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	<link>http://www.classic-poetry.com</link>
	<description>Great poems by great poets.</description>
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		<item>
		<title>The Windhover</title>
		<link>http://www.classic-poetry.com/the-windhover/912/</link>
		<comments>http://www.classic-poetry.com/the-windhover/912/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Gerald Manley Hopkins]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[Caught this morning morning's minion, king-  
  dom of daylight's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding  
  Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding  
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing  
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
  As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding  
  Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding  
Stirred for a bird,—the achieve of; the mastery of the thing!  
  
Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here  ]]></description>
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		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Carrion Comfort</title>
		<link>http://www.classic-poetry.com/carrion-comfort/911/</link>
		<comments>http://www.classic-poetry.com/carrion-comfort/911/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Gerald Manley Hopkins]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[Not, I'll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee;
Not untwist--slack they may be--these last strands of man
In me ór, most weary, cry I can no more. I can;
Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.

But ah, but O thou terrible, why wouldst thou rude on me
Thy wring-world right foot rock? lay a lionlimb against me? scan
With darksome devouring eyes my bruisèd bones? and fan,
O in turns of tempest, me heaped there; me frantic to avoid thee
	and flee?

Why? That my chaff might fly; my grain lie, sheer and clear.]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Peace</title>
		<link>http://www.classic-poetry.com/peace/910/</link>
		<comments>http://www.classic-poetry.com/peace/910/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Gerald Manley Hopkins]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false"></guid>
		<description><![CDATA[When will you ever, Peace, wild wooddove, shy wings shut,
Your round me roaming end, and under be my boughs?
When, when, Peace, will you, Peace? I'll not play hypocrite
To own my heart: I yield you do come sometimes; but
That piecemeal peace is poor peace. What pure peace allows
Alarms of wars, the daunting wars, the death of it?

O surely, reaving Peace, my Lord should leave in lieu
Some good! And so he does leave Patience exquisite,
That plumes to Peace thereafter. And when Peace here does house
He comes with work to do, he does not come to coo,
He comes to brood and sit.]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Pied Beauty</title>
		<link>http://www.classic-poetry.com/pied-beauty/909/</link>
		<comments>http://www.classic-poetry.com/pied-beauty/909/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Gerald Manley Hopkins]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false"></guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Glory be to God for dappled things--
   For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
       For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings;
   Landscape plotted and pieced--fold, fallow, and plough;
       And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
   Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
      With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
                                     Praise Him.]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Longing</title>
		<link>http://www.classic-poetry.com/longing/908/</link>
		<comments>http://www.classic-poetry.com/longing/908/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Matthew Arnold]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again!
For so the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.

Come, as thou cam'st a thousand times,
A messenger from radiant climes,
And smile on thy new world, and be
As kind to others as to me!

Or, as thou never cam'st in sooth,
Come now, and let me dream it truth,
And part my hair, and kiss my brow,
And say, My love why sufferest thou?

Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again!
For so the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day. ]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Hayeswater</title>
		<link>http://www.classic-poetry.com/hayeswater/907/</link>
		<comments>http://www.classic-poetry.com/hayeswater/907/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Matthew Arnold]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[A region desolate and wild.
Black, chafing water: and afloat,
And lonely as a truant child
In a waste wood, a single boat:
No mast, no sails are set thereon;
It moves, but never moveth on:
And welters like a human thing
Amid the wild waves weltering.

Behind, a buried vale doth sleep,
Far down the torrent cleaves its way:
In front the dumb rock rises steep,
A fretted wall of blue and grey;
Of shooting cliff and crumbled stone
With many a wild weed overgrown:
All else, black water: and afloat,
One rood from shore, that single boat.]]></description>
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		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Philomela</title>
		<link>http://www.classic-poetry.com/philomela/906/</link>
		<comments>http://www.classic-poetry.com/philomela/906/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Matthew Arnold]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[Hark! ah, the nightingale -
The tawny-throated!
Hark, from that moonlit cedar what a burst!
What triumph! hark! -what pain!

O wanderer from a Grecian shore,
Still, after many years, in distant lands,
Still nourishing in thy bewildered brain
That wild, unquenched, deep-sunken, old-world pain -
Say, will it never heal?
And can this fragrant lawn
With its cool trees, and night,
And the sweet tranquil Thames,
And moonshine, and the dew,
To thy racked heart and brain
Afford no balm?

Dost thou tonight behold,
Here, through the moonlight on this English grass,]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Voice</title>
		<link>http://www.classic-poetry.com/the-voice/905/</link>
		<comments>http://www.classic-poetry.com/the-voice/905/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Matthew Arnold]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false"></guid>
		<description><![CDATA[As the kindling glances,
Queen-like and clear,
Which the bright moon lances
From her tranquil sphere
At the sleepless waters
Of a lonely mere,
On the wild whirling waves, mournfully, mournfully,
Shiver and die.

As the tears of sorrow
Mothers have shed -
Prayers that tomorrow
Shall in vain be sped
When the flower they flow for
Lies frozen and dead -
Fall on the throbbing brow, fall on the burning breast,
Bringing no rest.

Like bright waves that fall
With a lifelike motion
On the lifeless margin of the sparkling Ocean;
A wild rose climbing up a mouldering wall -]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.classic-poetry.com/the-voice/905/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>To Marguerite</title>
		<link>http://www.classic-poetry.com/to-marguerite/904/</link>
		<comments>http://www.classic-poetry.com/to-marguerite/904/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Matthew Arnold]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false"></guid>
		<description><![CDATA[]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.classic-poetry.com/to-marguerite/904/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Lines Written In Kensington Gardens</title>
		<link>http://www.classic-poetry.com/lines-written-in-kensington-gardens/903/</link>
		<comments>http://www.classic-poetry.com/lines-written-in-kensington-gardens/903/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Matthew Arnold]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false"></guid>
		<description><![CDATA[In this lone, open glade I lie,
Screen'd by deep boughs on either hand;
And at its end, to stay the eye,
Those black-crown'd, red-boled pine-trees stand!

Birds here make song, each bird has his,
Across the girdling city's hum.
How green under the boughs it is!
How thick the tremulous sheep-cries come!

Sometimes a child will cross the glade
To take his nurse his broken toy;
Sometimes a thrush flit overhead
Deep in her unknown day's employ.

Here at my feet what wonders pass,
What endless, active life is here!
What blowing daisies, fragrant grass!]]></description>
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