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Macramay Meteors by David Hart

Macramay Meteors by David Hart

Macramay Meteors by David Hart

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March of the Vedas : A Compostion for the Piano by David Hart

March of the Vedas : A Compostion for the Piano by David Hart

March of the Vedas : A Compostion for the Piano by David Hart

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The LIght White Room by David Hart

The LIght White Room by David Hart

The light White Room by David Hart

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Dueling Rainbows by David Hart

Dueling Rainbows by David Hart

Dueling Rainbows by David Hart

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The Jests of the Count of Monte Cristo a piano compostion by David Hart

The Jests of the Count of Monte Cristo a piano compostion by David Hart

The Jests of the Count of Monte Cristo a piano compostion by David Hart

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I Dwell In Possibility by Emily Dickinson

I Dwell In Possibility by Emily Dickinson

I Dwell In Possibility by Emily Dickinson

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I Like A Look Of Agony by Emily Dickinson

I Like A Look Of Agony by Emily Dickinson

I like a look of Agony, Because I know it's true— Men do not sham Convulsion, Nor simulate, a Throe— The Eyes glaze once—and that is Death— Impossible to feign The Beads upon the Forehead By homely Anguish strung

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I Can Wade Grief by Emily Dickinson

I Can Wade Grief by Emily Dickinson

I Can Wade Grief by Emily Dickinson I can wade Grief— Whole Pools of it— I'm used to that— But the least push of Joy Breaks up my feet— And I tip—drunken— Let no Pebble—smile— 'Twas the New Liquor— That was all! Power is only Pain— Stranded, thro' Discipline, Till Weights—will hang— Give Balm—to Giants— And they'll wilt, like Men— Give Himmaleh— They'll Carry—Him!

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Sonnet 21 by William Shakespeare

Sonnet 21 by William Shakespeare

Sonnet 21 by William Shakespeare O is it not with me as with that Muse Stirred by a painted beauty to his verse, Who heaven itself for ornament doth use And every fair with his fair doth rehearse; Making a couplement of proud compare With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems, With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare That heaven's airs in this huge rondure hems. O let me, true in love, but truly write, And then believe me, my love is as fair As any mother's child, though ...

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Sonnet 20 by William Shakespeare

Sonnet 20 by William Shakespeare

Sonnet 20 by William Shakespeare A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion; A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted With shifting change, as is false women's fashion; An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling, Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth; A man in hue, all 'hues' in his controlling, Much steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth. And for a woman wert thou first created; Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a ...

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