Fay Inchfawn Face Poems

  • 1.
    "I beseech Euodias, and beseech Syntyche, that they be of the same mind in the Lord" -- Phil. iv. 2,

    EUODIAS.

    ...
  • 2.
    Now from the dust of half-forgotten things,
    You rise to haunt me at the year's Spring- cleaning,
    And bring to memory dim imaginings
    Of mystic meaning.
    ...
  • 3.
    You call authority "a grievous thing."
    With careless hands you snap the leading string,
    And, for a frolic (so it seems to you),
    Put off the old love, and put on the new.
    ...
  • 4.
    Not long ago, I prayed for dying grace,
    For then I thought to see Thee face to face.

    And now I ask (Lord, 'tis a weakling's cry)
    ...
  • 5.
    First, there's the entrance, narrow, and so small,
    The hat-stand seems to fill the tiny hall;
    That staircase, too, has such an awkward bend,
    The carpet rucks, and rises up on end!
    ...
  • 6.
    Into the world you came, and I was dumb,
    Because "God did it," so the wise ones said;
    I wonder sometimes "Did you really come?"
    And "Are you truly . . . DEAD?"
    ...
  • 7.
    When little Fanny came to town, I felt as I could sing!
    She were the sprackest little maid, the sharpest, pertest thing.
    Her mother were as proud as punch, and as for I -- well, there!
    I never see sich gert blue eyes, I never see sich hair!
    ...
  • 8.
    "When He comes!
    My sweetest 'When'!"
    C. ROSSETTI.

    ...
  • 9.
    Such a sensation Sunday's preacher made.
    "Christian!" he cried, "what is your stock- in-trade?
    Alas! Too often nil. No time to pray;
    No interview with Christ from day to day,
    ...
Total 9 Face Poems by Fay Inchfawn

Top 10 most used topics by Fay Inchfawn

Sweet 16 Face 9 Long 9 Forget 9 Good 8 Door 8 Soul 8 Kitchen 7 Small 7 Hold 7

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nicholas misiko: have read her books in bible commentaries by baclays
David hall: I have a hand written poem On the cotswolds now signed fay inchfawn was it ever published

Poem of the day

Alfred Lord Tennyson Poem
In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII: Part 073
 by Alfred Lord Tennyson

So many worlds, so much to do,
So little done, such things to be,
How know I what had need of thee,
For thou wert strong as thou wert true?

The fame is quench'd that I foresaw,
The head hath miss'd an earthly wreath:
I curse not nature, no, nor death;
...

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