Divine Epigrams: On the Miracle of the Multiplied Loaves

D
See here an easy feast that knows no wound,
That under hunger’s teeth will needs be sound;
A subtle harvest of unbounded bread,
What would ye more? Here food itself is fed.

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The bridge is cross'd, and slow we ride,
Through forest, up the mountain-side.

The autumnal evening darkens round,
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In a London Drawingroom by George Eliot
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The sky is cloudy, yellowed by the smoke.
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MEanwhile the hainous and despightfull act
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Ave Atque Vale by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Algernon Charles Swinburne
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William Shakespeare
Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
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from The Triumph of Love by Geoffrey Hill
Geoffrey Hill
I

Sun-blazed, over Romsley, a livid rain-scarp.


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From golden showers of the ancient skies,
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