Florilegium latinum: Victorian poets

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Francis St. John Thackeray, Edward Daniel Stone
J. Lane, 1902
 

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Seite 38 - midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way...
Seite 6 - I wind about, and in and out, With here a blossom sailing, And here and there a lusty trout, And here and there a grayling, And here and there a foamy flake Upon me as I travel, With many a silvery waterbreak Above the golden gravel...
Seite 68 - All we have willed or hoped or dreamed of good, shall exist ; Not its semblance, but itself ; no beauty, nor good, nor power • Whose voice has gone forth, but each survives for the melodist When eternity affirms the conception of an hour.
Seite 4 - I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally, And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley.
Seite 66 - But here is the finger of God, a flash of the will that can, Existent behind all laws, that made them and, lo, they are! And I know not if, save in this, such gift be allowed to man, That out of three sounds he frame, not a fourth sound, but a star.
Seite 96 - COLD in the earth, and the deep snow piled above thee ; Far, far removed, cold in the dreary grave ! Have I forgot, my only love, to love thee, Severed at last by time's all-severing wave ? Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover Over the mountains, on that northern shore, Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover Thy noble heart for ever, ever more ? Cold in the earth, and fifteen wild Decembers From those brown hills have melted into spring ; Faithful indeed is the spirit that...
Seite 124 - Amid these earthly damps What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers, May be heaven's distant lamps. There is no Death ! What seems so is transition ; This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian, Whose portal we call Death.
Seite 124 - THERE is no flock, however watched and tended But one dead lamb is there ! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair ! The air is full of farewells to the dying, And mournings for the dead ; The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, Will not be comforted...
Seite 56 - MY good blade carves the casques of men, My tough lance thrusteth sure, My strength is as the strength of ten, Because my heart is pure.
Seite 60 - And thro' the mountain-walls A rolling organ-harmony Swells up, and shakes and falls. Then move the trees, the copses nod, Wings flutter, voices hover clear : " O just and faithful knight of God 1 Ride on ! the prize is near.

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