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Page 69 - She is coming, my own, my sweet; Were it ever so airy a tread, My heart would hear her and beat, Were it earth in an earthy bed; My dust would hear her and beat, Had I lain for a century dead; Would start and tremble under her feet, And blossom in purple and red.
Page 21 - Not in vain the distance beacons. Forward, forward let us range, Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves of change. Thro...
Page 69 - Dear as remember'd kisses after death, And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd On lips that are for others ; deep as love, Deep as first love, and wild with all regret; O Death in Life, the days that are no more.
Page 18 - I, to herd with narrow foreheads, vacant of our glorious gains, Like a beast with lower pleasures, like a beast with lower pains! Mated with a squalid savage— what to me were sun or clime? I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time...
Page 13 - They to whom my foolish passion were a target for their scorn : Shall it not be scorn to me to harp on such a mouldered string ? I am shamed through all my nature to have loved so slight a thing.
Page 69 - And thinking of the days that are no more. " Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That brings our friends up from the underworld, Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge ; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. " Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns The earliest pipe of half-awaken'd birds To dying ears, when unto dying eyes The casement slowly grows a glimmering square ; So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.
Page 147 - Come down, O maid, from yonder mountain height What pleasure lives in height (the shepherd sang) In height and cold, the splendour of the hills ? But cease to move so near the Heavens, and cease To glide a sunbeam by the blasted Pine, To sit a star upon the sparkling spire ; And come, for Love is of the valley, come, For Love is of the valley, come thou down And find him...
Page 78 - A shadow flits before me, Not thou, but like to thee: Ah Christ, that it were possible For one short hour to see The souls we loved, that they might tell us, What and where they be.
Page 22 - Ancient founts of inspiration well thro' all my fancy yet. Howsoever these things be, a long farewell to Locksley Hall! Now for me the woods may wither, now for me the roof-tree fall. Comes a vapor from the margin, blackening over heath and holt, Cramming all the blast before it, in its breast a thunderbolt. Let it fall on Locksley Hall, with rain or hail, or fire or snow; For the mighty wind arises, roaring seaward, and I go.