Poems

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Macmillan, 1891 - 450 pages

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Page 1 - Beside the brook, along the glen, She heard the tramp of goblin men, The voice and stir Poor Laura could not hear; Longed to buy fruit to comfort her, But feared to pay too dear.
Page 179 - When I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me; Plant thou no roses at my head, Nor shady cypress tree: Be the green grass above me With showers and dewdrops wet; And if thou wilt, remember, And if thou wilt, forget. I shall not see the shadows, I shall not feel the rain; I shall not hear the nightingale Sing on, as if in pain: And dreaming through the twilight That doth not rise nor set, Haply I may remember, And haply may forget.
Page 286 - ... and play ; Hearken what the past doth witness and say : Rust in thy gold, a moth is in thine array, A canker is in thy bud, thy leaf must decay. At midnight, at cockcrow, at morning, one certain day Lo, the Bridegroom shall come and shall not delay : Watch thou and pray. Then I answered : Yea. Passing away, saith my God, passing away : Winter passeth after the long delay : New grapes on the vine, new figs on the tender spray, Turtle calleth turtle in Heaven's May. Though I tarry wait for Me,...
Page 147 - ECHO. Come to me in the silence of the night; Come in the speaking silence of a dream; Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright As sunlight on a stream; Come back in tears, O memory, hope, love of finished years.
Page 105 - Only remember me; you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember, do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, Better by far you should forget and smile Than that...
Page 148 - My very life again though cold in death: Come back to me in dreams, that I may give Pulse for pulse, breath for breath: Speak low, lean low, As long ago, my love, how long ago!
Page 229 - ... is in the falling leaf: O Jesus, quicken me. My life is like a faded leaf, My harvest dwindled to a husk: Truly my life is void and brief And tedious in the barren dusk; My life is like a frozen thing, No bud nor greenness can I see: Yet rise it shall - the sap of spring; O Jesus, rise in me. My life is like a broken bowl, A broken bowl that cannot hold One drop of water for my soul Or cordial in the searching cold; Cast in the fire the perished thing; Melt and remould it, till it be A royal...
Page 248 - Y day she woos me, soft, exceeding fair : But all night as the moon so changeth she ; Loathsome and foul with hideous leprosy And subtle serpents gliding in her hair. By day she woos me to the outer air, Ripe fruits, sweet flowers, and full satiety : But through the night a beast she grins at me. A very monster void of love and prayer.
Page 3 - Covered close lest they should look; Laura reared her glossy head, And whispered like the restless brook: 'Look, Lizzie, look, Lizzie, Down the glen tramp little men. One hauls a basket, One bears a plate, One lugs a golden dish Of many pounds weight. How fair the vine must grow Whose grapes are so luscious; How warm the wind must blow Through those fruit bushes.' 'No,' said Lizzie; 'No, no, no, Their offers should not charm us, Their evil gifts would harm us.
Page 3 - One had a cat's face, One whisked a tail, One tramped at a rat's pace, One crawled like a snail, One like a wombat prowled obtuse and furry, One like a ratel tumbled hurry skurry. She heard a voice like voice of doves Cooing all together: They sounded kind and full of loves In the pleasant weather.

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