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amor atque aura bird breath brow cold College comes dark dead Death deep Deus dolor dreams earth eyes face fair fall Fellow field flowers grave growing haec hand head hear heart Heaven hinc hora hour illa inter ipsa ipse King late light live longa lumina manus Master mihi modo morning moves never night nova nunc o'er oculis oculos once pass pedes procul quae quam quid quis quod R. L. Stevenson rest round shadow simul sine Sing sleep song soul stars sweet tamen tears Tennyson terra thee things thou thought thro tibi umbra unda usque vitae voice waves weep wind
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 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.