POEMS

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Page 148 - Hollow, hollow; Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow, From the clovers lift your head; Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot, Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow, Jetty, to the milking shed.
Page 151 - Enderby.' They rang the sailor lads to guide From roofe to roofe who fearless rowed ; And I — my sonne was at my side, And yet the ruddy beacon glowed : And yet he moaned beneath his breath, ' O come in life, or come in death ! O lost ! my love, Elizabeth.
Page 147 - I sat and spun within the doore, My thread brake off, I raised myne eyes ; The level sun, like ruddy ore, Lay sinking in the barren skies ; And dark against day's golden death She moved where Lindis wandereth, My sonne's faire wife, Elizabeth. "Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling, Ere the early dews were falling, Farre away I heard her song. "Cusha'! Cusha!
Page 152 - I shall never hear her more By the reedy Lindis shore, "Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling, Ere the early dews be falling. I shall never hear her song, "Cusha! Cusha!
Page 151 - The waters laid thee at his doore, Ere yet the early dawn was clear. Thy pretty bairns in fast embrace, The lifted sun shone on thy face...
Page 165 - seven times " over and over, Seven times one are seven. I am old, so old, I can write a letter ; My birthday lessons are done ; The lambs play always, they know no better ; They are only one times one.
Page 168 - Now, if there be footsteps, he comes, my one lover — Hush, nightingale, hush ! O, sweet nightingale, wait Till I listen and hear If a step draweth near, For my love he is late ! " The skies in the darkness stoop nearer and nearer, A cluster of stars hangs like fruit in the tree, The fall of the water comes sweeter, comes clearer : To what...
Page 173 - O fond, O fool, and blind, To God I gave with tears, But when a man like grace would find My soul put by her fears — O fond, O fool, and blind, God guards in happier spheres ; That man will guard where he did bind Is hope for unknown years. To hear, to heed, to wed, Fair lot that maidens choose, Thy mother's tenderest words are said, Thy face no more she views ; Thy mother's lot, my dear, She doth in nought accuse ; Her lot to bear, to nurse, to rear, To love — and then to lose.
Page 12 - A breathing sigh, a sigh for answer, A little talking of outward things : The careless beck is a merry dancer, Keeping sweet time to the air she sings. A little pain when the beck grows wider ; " Cross to me now — for her wavelets swell : " " I may not cross " — and the voice beside her Faintly reacheth, though heeded well.
Page 15 - And yet I know past all doubting, truly — A knowledge greater than grief can dim— I know, as he loved, he will love me duly — Yea better — e'en better than I love him. And as I walk by the vast calm river, The awful river so dread to see, I say, ' Thy breadth and thy depth for ever Are bridged by his thoughts that cross to me.

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