Poems, by E.B. Barrett, Band 3

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Seite 230 - Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints.
Seite 201 - IF thou must love me, let it be for nought Except for love's sake only. Do not say ' I love her for her smile . . her look . . her way Of speaking gently, . . for a trick of thought That falls in well with mine, and certes brought A sense of pleasant ease on such a day...
Seite 113 - For me, my heart that erst did go Most like a tired child at a show, That sees through tears the mummers leap, Would now its wearied vision close, Would childlike on His love repose, Who giveth His beloved, sleep. And, friends, dear friends, — when it shall be That this low breath is gone from me, And round my bier ye come to weep, Let One, most loving of you all, Say, ' Not a tear must o'er her fall ; ' He giveth His beloved, sleep.
Seite 118 - His own love to blind him, But gently led the blind along where breath and bird could find him. And wrought within his shattered brain such quick poetic senses As hills have language for, and stars, harmonious influences. The pulse of dew upon the grass, kept his within its number And silent shadows from the trees refreshed him like a slumber.
Seite 194 - The face of all the world is changed, I think, Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul Move still, oh, still, beside me, as they stole Betwixt me and the dreadful outer brink Of obvious death, where I, who thought to sink, Was caught up into love, and taught the whole Of life in a new rhythm.
Seite 112 - His dews drop mutely on the hill, His cloud above it saileth still, Though on its slope men sow and reap : More softly than the dew is shed, Or cloud is floated overhead, He giveth His beloved, sleep.
Seite 119 - Like a sick child that knoweth not his mother while she blesses, And drops upon his burning brow the coolness of her kisses ; That turns his fevered eyes around — " My mother ! where's my mother...
Seite 120 - It went up from the Holy's lips amid his lost creation, That, of the lost, no son should use those words of desolation...
Seite 112 - He giveth His beloved, sleep. 'Sleep soft, beloved!' we sometimes say, But have no tune to charm away Sad dreams that through the eye-lids creep. But never doleful dream again Shall break the happy slumber when He giveth His beloved, sleep.
Seite 68 - Say never, ye loved ONCE : God is too near above, the grave, beneath, And all our moments breathe Too quick in mysteries of life and death, For such a word. The eternities avenge Affections light of range. There comes no change to justify that change, Whatever comes — Loved ONCE ! And yet that same word ONCE Is humanly acceptive. Kings have said, Shaking a discrowned head, " We ruled once,"— dotards, " We once taught and led,

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