WOMEN BEHIND BARS A depraved delicacy destined to delight connoisseurs of crime and perverted punishment. Uncut and uncensored - a must-see entry in the women-in-prison genre. Director: Jess Franco (99 Women, Sadomania) Stars: Lina Romay. The Adventures of Lucky Pierre Directed by Herschell Gordon Lewis (as Lewis H. Gordon) Produced by David F. Friedman (as Davis Freeman) Written by Herschell Gordon Lewis David F. Friedman Starring Billy Falbo Lawrence J. Aberwood (as Lawrence Wood). Touched by An Angel by Maya Angelou - We, unaccustomed to courage exiles from delight live coiled in shells of loneliness until love leaves its high holy t. We, unaccustomed to courage exiles from delight live coiled in shells of loneliness until love leaves its. Sonnets of World War IRupert Brooke (1. Although Rupert Brooke's 1. Brooke's work. See Harry Rusche's Rupert Brooke page, part of his Lost Poets of the Great War. Also helpful is Harry Rusche's Wilfred Owen page, part of his Lost Poets of the Great War. Henry Christopher Bradby (1. English school teacher (April 1. Edgell Rickword (1. After the war, he published three volumes of poetry as well as literary criticism and political journalism (War and Peace). May Herschel- Clarke published one volume of poems in 1. The Mother, written in response to Rupert Brooke's The Soldier. Edward Shillito (1. Free Church minister; his blank verse sonnet Hardness of Heart is included here. Wilfrid Wilson Gibson (1. Rupert Brooke, tried to dissuade him from enlisting (The Conscript). Eva Dobell (1. 86. Advent, 1. 91. 6). Saint Catherine de' Ricci, O.S.D. Religious Born (1522-04-23) 23 April 1522 Florence, Republic of Florence Died 2 February 1590 (1590-02-02) (aged 67) Prato, Grand Duchy of Tuscany Venerated in Roman Catholic Church (Dominican Order) Beatified 23 November. Letters from India by The Hon. Emily Eden (1797-1869) With additional letters by Frances Eden (1801-1849); Edited by Eleanor Eden. London: Richard Bentley and Son, 1872. LETTERS FROM INDIA BY THE HON. EMILY EDEN Author of 'Up the Country' 'Semi. Geoffrey Faber (1. France and Belgium (Home Service). Ivor Gurney (1. 89. Somme; he showed signs of mental instability before the war and after the war was institutionalized (To England- -A Note). Also included are some American sonnets from the 1. War Poems By X. The sonnets of John Allan Wyeth can be found at Trenches on the Web. Peace. Now, God be thanked Who has watched us with His hour. And caught our youth, and wakened us from sleeping. With hand made sure, clear eye, and sharpened power. To turn, as swimmers into cleanness leaping. Glad from a world grown old and cold and weary. Leave the sick hearts that honour could not move. And half- men, and their dirty songs and dreary. And all the little emptiness of love! Safe shall be my going. Secretly armed against all death's endeavour. Safe though all safety's lost; safe where men fall. And if these poor limbs die, safest of all. The Dead. Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead! They brought us, for our dearth. Holiness, lacked so long, and Love, and Pain. The Dead. These hearts were woven of human joys and cares. Washed marvellously with sorrow, swift to mirth. Dawn was theirs. And sunset, and the colours of the earth. And after. Frost, with a gesture, stays the waves that dance. And wandering loveliness. He leaves a white. Unbroken glory, a gathered radiance. A width, a shining peace, under the night. The Soldier. If I should die, think only this of me. That there's some corner of a foreign field. That is for ever England. There shall be. In that rich earth a richer dust concealed. A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware. Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam. A body of England's, breathing English air. Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home. Of a truth. All death will he annul, all tears assuage?- . Or fill these void veins full again with youth. And wash, with an immortal water, Age? You listen with delight. By tales of dirt and danger fondly thrilled. He goes. Heavily, blindly on. And, while he blunders. For, deaf, how should they know. It is not curses heaped on each gashed head? Their blind eyes see not your tears flow. It is easy to be dead. None wears the face you knew. Riven across. She rose, dead, into never- dying fame. The myriads of the brave. Sleep round her. Desolately glorified. She, moon- like, draws her own far- moving tide. Of sorrow and memory; toward her, each alone. Glide the dark dreams that seek an English grave. They are too many now. For mortal eyes to weep, and none can see. But God alone the Thing itself and live.
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