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A nineteenth-century depiction of a headache by George Cruikshank. On His Heid-Ake, also referred to as The Headache and My Heid Did Yak Yesternicht, is a brief poem in Scots by William Dunbar (born 1459 or 1460) composed at an unknown date. The poem describes Dunbar's experience of a severe headache which he refers to as a "magryme".
I only tell of sunny hours. I count only sunny hours. The clouds shall pass and the sun will shine on us once more. Let others tell of storms and showers, I tell of sunny morning hours. Let others tell of storms and showers, I'll only count your sunny hours. Has date of 1767; Life is but a shadow: the shadow of a bird on the wing.
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. Never did sun more beautifully steep In his first splendor, valley, rock, or hill; Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will: Dear God!
Sunday Morning" is a poem from Wallace Stevens' first book of poetry, Harmonium. Published in part in the November 1915 issue of Poetry , then in full in 1923 in Harmonium , it is now in the public domain.
From 1836 onwards, the poem bore the current title. "Farewell, thou little Nook of mountain-ground," Poems founded on the Affections. 1815 The Sun has long been set 1802, 8 June "The sun has long been set," Evening Voluntaries 1807 Composed upon Westminster Bridge, Sept. 3, 1802: 1802, 31 July "Earth has not anything to show more fair:"
During 1802, Coleridge wrote the poem Hymn Before Sunrise, which he based on his translation of a poem by Brun.However, Coleridge told William Southeby another story about what inspired him to write the poem [1] in a 10 September 1802 letter: "I involuntarily poured forth a Hymn in the manner of the Psalms, tho' afterwards I thought the Ideas &c disproportionate to our humble mountains ...
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"The Exiles Return, or Morning on the Irish coast" [7] D'anam chun De! but there it is— The dawn on the hills of Ireland ! God's angels lifting the night's black veil From the fair, sweet face of my sireland ! O, Ireland! isn't grand you look— Like a bride in her rich adornin ! With all the pent-up love of my heart I bid you the top of the ...