John Boyle O'Reilly
Under The River - Poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
CLEAR and bright, from the snowy height,
The joyous stream to the plain descended:
Rich sands of gold were washed and rolled
To the turbid marsh where its pure life ended.
From stainless snow to the moor below
The heart like the brook has a waning mission
The buried dream in life's sluggish stream
Is the golden sand of our young ambition.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
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Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye