O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stain’d
With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
Beneath my shady roof; there thou may’st rest,
And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,
And all the daughters of the year shall dance!
Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.
- Francisco X. Alarcón - To Those Who Have Lost Everything
- Francisco X. Alarcón - “Mexican” Is Not a Noun
- Folk - "Hickery Pickery, pease scon..."
- Folk - "Robin the Bobbin, the big-bellied Ben..."
- Joseph Brodsky - The End of a Beautiful Era
- Richard Crashaw - Out of Catullus
- Folk - The magic porridge pot
- Mark Jarman - Unholy Sonnet 13
- Gordon Henry Jr. - When Names Escaped Us
- Sara Littlecrow-Russell - Ghost Dance