Poems of Many YearsE. Moxon, 1844 - 275 Seiten |
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Atalantis Beauty beauty lie beneath blest bliss BOOK OF SORROW breath bright brow calm captive heart clear horizon dare dark dear Death delight divine dream earth easy wheels eternal evil eyes face faint faith fear feeding the multitudes feel flowers fresh friendships pass gaze GHAZELES glory golden air gone grace grief hand happy hear heart Heaven hope hour Lady Moon light live Long-ago look LUCCA memory mind mortal Myrrha Nature Nature's never night o'er old Manorial Hall once pain passion past pleasure Poet poison'd poor pride repose rest round scorn seems sense shame shore sighs silent sing sleep smile song sorrow sorrow floated soul sound spirit strife strong sure sweet tears tell thee thine things are small thou art thought toil tomb tone truth unseen universe voice wander weep words young Passion youth
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 243 - But the beating of my own heart Was all the sound I heard I sat beneath the elm-tree, I watched the long, long, shade, And as it grew still longer, I did not feel afraid ; For I listened for a footfall, I listened for a word, — But the beating of my own heart Was all the sound I heard.
Seite 237 - LADY MOON, Lady Moon, where are you roving ? Over the sea. Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving ? All that love me.
Seite 121 - If you have no power of giving ; — An arm of aid to the weak ; — A friendly hand to the friendless ; — Kind words so short to speak, But whose echo is endless — The world is wide ; these things are small ; They may be nothing, but they are all.
Seite 113 - Long-ago. On that deep-retiring shore Frequent pearls of beauty lie, Where the passion-waves of yore Fiercely beat and mounted high : Sorrows that are sorrows still Lose the bitter taste of woe ; Nothing's altogether ill In the griefs of Long-ago. Tombs where lonely love repines, Ghastly tenements of tears, Wear the look of happy shrines Through the golden mist of years : Death, to those who trust in good, Vindicates his hardest blow ; Oh ! we would not, if we could, Wake the sleep of Long-ago !...
Seite 125 - And what if Nature's fearful wound They did not probe and bare, For that their spirits never swooned To watch the misery there, — For that their love but flowed more fast, Their charities more free, Not conscious what mere drops they cast Into the evil sea. A man's best things are nearest him, Lie close about his feet, It is the distant and the dim That we are sick to greet: For flowers that grow our hands beneath We struggle and aspire,— Our hearts must die, except they breathe The air of fresh...
Seite 122 - And a terrible heart-thrill, If you' have no power of giving ; An arm of aid to the weak, . A friendly hand to the friendless, Kind words, so short to speak, But whose echo is endless : The world is wide, — these things are small, They may be nothing, but they are All.
Seite 227 - Or hard occasion may prevent Their exercise of humble skill. It may be that the suppliant's life Has lain on many an evil way Of foul delight and brutal strife, And lawless deeds that shun the day ; But how can any gauge of yours The depth of that temptation try ? — What man resists — what man endures — Is open to one only eye. Why not believe the homely letter That all you give will God restore ? The poor man may deserve it better, And surely, surely, wants it more : Let but the rich man do...
Seite 164 - That perfect presence of his face, Which we, for want of words, call Heaven,— And unresponsive even there This heart of mine could still remain, And its intrinsic evil bear To realms that know no other pain. Better down nature's scale to roll, Far as the base unbreathing clod...
Seite 6 - Thou paritest on to win a mournful race : Then stay ! oh, stay ! Pause and luxuriate in thy sunny plain ; Loiter, — enjoy : Once past, Thou never wilt come back again, A second Boy. The hills of Manhood wear a noble face, When seen from far ; The mist of light from which they take their grace Hides what they are.
Seite 203 - Trembling and weeping while her troth is vowed,A school-boy's laugh that rises light and loud In licensed freedom from ungentle dread ; These are ensamples of the Happiness, For which our nature fits us ; more and less Are parts of all things to the mortal given, Of Love, Joy, Truth, and Beauty. Perfect Light Would dazzle, not illuminate, our sight, — From earth it is enough to glimpse at Heaven.