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Search results for: sore

Yee yee! We've found 682 poems matching sore.

Ah, Silly Pug, Wert Thou So Sore Afraid
Queen Elizabeth I
Ah, silly Pug, wert thou so sore afraid? Mourn not, my Wat, nor be thou so dismayed. It passeth fickle Fortune’s power and skill To force my hea...Rate it:

(0.00 / 0 votes)
My throat is sore
John Wilbye
My throat is sore, my voice is hoarse with skriking, My rests are sighs, deep from the heart’s root fetched; My song runs all on sharps, and with o...Rate it:

(0.00 / 0 votes)
Tempest Tossed And Sore Afflicted
Robert Louis Stevenson
TEMPEST tossed and sore afflicted, sin defiled and care oppressed, Come to me, all ye that labour; come, and I will give ye rest. Fear no more, O d...Rate it:

(0.00 / 0 votes)
Deliverance from Another Sore Fit
Anne Bradstreet
In my distress I sought the Lord When naught on earth could comfort give, And when my soul these things abhorred, Then, Lord, Thou said'st unto ...Rate it:

(0.00 / 0 votes)
Orlando Furioso Canto 12
Ludovico Ariosto
mead; V Who in his arms a captive damsel bears, Sore grieving, and across the pommel laid; She weeRate it:

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The Country Mouse and the Town Mouse
Sir Thomas Wyatt
to much pain: The stormy blasts her cave so sore did souse That when the furrows swimmed with theRate it:

(0.00 / 0 votes)
The ghost Bereft
Edith Nesbit
was set. The wind was angry, the rain beat sore When the poor ghost came to its own house-door. Rate it:

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The Mistress Of Vision
Francis Thompson
the garden's core, Sang a song of sweet and sore And the after-sleeping; In the land of Luthany, anRate it:

(0.00 / 0 votes)
The Shepheardes Calender: August
Edmund Spenser
That he purchast of me in the playne field: Sore against my will was I forst to yield. Willye. SRate it:

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The Shepheardes Calender: March
Edmund Spenser
then I little smart did feele: But soone it sore encreased. And now it ranckleth more and more, Rate it:

(0.00 / 0 votes)
The Three Friends
Charles Lamb
as Martha gathered new; And her sickness waxëd sore, Just when Martha felt no more. Mary, who had Rate it:

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The Vision Of The Holy Grail
Eugene Field
his child and mine.' Then frowned the King in sore despite; 'A murrain seize that traitrous knightRate it:

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An Anthem Of Earth
Francis Thompson
little joy, in a little joy, We wear awhile thy sore insignia, Nor know thy heel o' the neck. O MotRate it:

(5.00 / 1 vote)
By The Waters Of Babylon
Christina Georgina Rossetti
body in this mire; My soul crawls dumb-struck, sore-bested and cowed. As Sodom and Gomorrah scourgeRate it:

(5.00 / 1 vote)
The Ruines of Time
Edmund Spenser
riuen in my brest With tender ruth to see her sore constraint, That shedding teares a while I stillRate it:

(4.00 / 1 vote)
Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore
William Brighty Rands
might roar, And teeth be aching and throats be sore, But still he never would shut the door. His fRate it:

(3.67 / 3 votes)
Of the Mean and Sure Estate
Sir Thomas Wyatt
too much pain; The stormy blasts her cave so sore did souse That when the furrows swimmèd Rate it:

(2.00 / 1 vote)
A Lady Forsaken Complayneth
Sir Edward Dyer
compare a lyfe to myne: Who can unbind that is sore bound? who can make free yet is sore thrall, OrRate it:

(0.00 / 0 votes)
A New Forest Ballad
Charles Kingsley
up, they wrestled down, They wrestled still and sore; Beneath their feet the myrtle sweet Was stampRate it:

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After Cattle
Roderic Quinn
a human cry Of sad unrest, Of one cast down and sore distressed. And then, an elfin chant it raisedRate it:

(0.00 / 0 votes)
Against Urania
Francis Thompson
Lo I, Song's most true lover, plain me sore That worse than other women she can deceive, For she being goddess, I have given her more Than mortal l...Rate it:

(0.00 / 0 votes)
Agnes And The Hill-Man
William Morris
the green earth sithence fell she longing full sore. There she sat, and lullaby sang in her singinRate it:

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Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt. Canto I.
George Gordon Lord Byron
me! in sooth he was a shameless wight, Sore given to revel and ungodly glee; Few earthly things fouRate it:

(0.00 / 0 votes)
COMPLAINT OF A DYING LOVER
Henry Howard
how I smart.' His back against the tree sore feebled all with faint, With weary sprite he stretcht Rate it:

(0.00 / 0 votes)
Death Of Archbishop Turpin. (From The French)
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
couches spread, there shall we rest from pain. Sore Roland grieved; nor marvel I, alas! That thrRate it:

(0.00 / 0 votes)

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