Luo Zhihai

Gold Star - 130,772 Points [Luo Zhihai] (In 1954 December / Haifeng / Shanwei / Guangdong / China)

Luo Zhihai Poems

841. Massifs 6/5/2017
842. The Indulging Love 6/5/2017
843. To Recall 6/5/2017
844. Poetry On The Back Of A Horse 6/5/2017
845. Qu Soul 6/6/2017
846. We-Chat Busy 6/6/2017
847. In Proud Bloom 6/6/2017
848. No Joy And No Sorrow 6/6/2017
849. The Patio Spring 6/6/2017
850. The Weather Of The Winter Snow 6/6/2017
851. Empty Wine Pot 6/6/2017
852. Copies A Book 6/7/2017
853. The Field Path 6/7/2017
854. Not Afraid Of Gossip 6/7/2017
855. Barge 6/7/2017
856. Flower Rain 6/7/2017
857. Full Of Mouth 6/7/2017
858. Calm Down 6/7/2017
859. The Free Verse 6/7/2017
860. Saved Ambition 6/7/2017
861. The Zha Creek 6/8/2017
862. Yellowing Pages 6/8/2017
863. The Dragon's Bravery 6/8/2017
864. Tread On The Waves 6/8/2017
865. Wuling Garden 6/8/2017
866. Sing At Night 6/10/2017
867. A Fishing Old Man 6/10/2017
868. Extraordinary 6/10/2017
869. The Six Roots Of Sensations Are Pure And Clear 6/10/2017
870. Duckweeds Downstream Wandering 6/10/2017
871. Noise The Midwinter 6/10/2017
872. Several Millenniums 6/10/2017
873. Nonsense 6/10/2017
874. The Drunken Eight Immortals 6/10/2017
875. The Setting Clouds 6/10/2017
876. A Magpie Bridge 6/10/2017
877. The Strong Wind Song 6/10/2017
878. Planting Bamboos To Store Up Romantic Charm 6/10/2017
879. The Willow Lane 6/11/2017
880. Rode A Cow 6/11/2017
Best Poem of Luo Zhihai

Her Eyes

★ Her Eyes

☆ Poetry by Edwin Arlington Robinson


Up from the street and the crowds that went,
Morning and midnight, to and fro,
Still was the room where his days he spent,
And the stars were bleak, and the nights were slow.

Year after year, with his dream shut fast,
He suffered and strove till his eyes were dim,
For the love that his brushes had earned at last, -
And the whole world rang with the praise of him.

But he cloaked his triumph, and searched, instead,
Till his cheeks were sere and his hairs were gray.
'There are women ...

Read the full of Her Eyes

A Book

★A Book
☆by Emily Dickinson

There is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away,
Nor any coursers like a page
Of prancing poetry.
This traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of toll;

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