The Poetical Works of Edward Rowland Sill

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Houghton, Mifflin, 1906 - 423 pages
 

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Page 299 - out of any cloud or sky Will thy good come to prayer or cry. Let the great forces, wise of old, Have their whole way with thee, Crumble thy heart from its hold, Drown thy life in the sea. And
Page 299 - hence, some day, The love thou gavest a child, The dream in a midnight wild, The word thou wouldst not say — Or in a whisper no one dared to hear, Shall gladden the earth and bring the golden year.
Page 273 - O Lord, Be merciful to me, a fool! " No pity, Lord, could change the heart From red with wrong to white as wool; The rod must heal the sin : but, Lord, Be merciful to me, a fool! " 'T is not by guilt the onward sweep Of truth and right, O Lord, we stay ; 'T is by our follies that so long We hold the earth from heaven away.
Page 107 - • " You, too, were surely prouder then than now ! " " Dear, I am sadder now: the head must bend A little, when one 's weeping." Then the man, — While half his mind, bewildered, at a flash Took in the wide, lone place, the singing bird, The sunshine streaming past them like a wind,
Page 149 - With that same piping little tune, She waits there every afternoon, Selling her bunch of papers; She scarcely looks aside to see What's passing by, of grief or glee — No childish tricks or capers ; Her pattering bare feet never fail To run and meet me, and chirping greet me, " 'Ere 's the Mail, sir ! — Mail ? — Mail
Page 103 - mine ! Ah fool — fool — fool! crawl back to thy den, Like a wounded beast as thou art, again; Whosever she be, not thine — not thine! I sat last night on yonder ridge of rocks To see the sun set over Tamalpais, Whose tented peak, suffused with rosy mist, Blended the colors of the sea and sky And made the mountain one great amethyst Hanging against the sunset.
Page 4 - The monk should bow his locks of white By a taper's feebly flickering light — Should pore, and pore, and never seem To notice the golden morning-beam. MIDNIGHT
Page 78 - Above me frowns a front of rocky wall, Deep cloven into ruined pillars tall And sculptures strange; bald to its dizzy edge, Save where, in some deep crevice of a ledge Buttressed by its black shadow hung below, A solitary pine has cleft the rock, — Straight as an arrow, feathered to the tip, As if a shaft from the moon-huntress
Page 228 - For all the while I had burrowed There in my dingy tower, Lo! the birds had sung and the leaves had danced From hour to sunny hour. And such balm and warmth and beauty Came drifting in since then, That window still stands open And shall never be shut again. GOOD NEWS T
Page 407 - 1 know not where thou dwellest : if within A palace or a hut ; if great or small Thy state and store of fortune ; if thou 'rt sad This moment, or most glad

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