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American appeared artist asked beautiful become better body called century character child cloth color comes course criticism English eyes face fact feel feet field flowers friends give given half hand head heart human interest Italy John kind known lady leaves less light literary literature living look Magazine matter means mind Miss nature never night novel once passed person plants play poems poet present published question round seems seen sense side song soul stand story success sweet tell things thought tion true turned volume whole woman writing young
Page 84 - IF the red slayer think he slays, Or if the slain think he is slain, They know not well the subtle ways I keep, and pass, and turn again. Far or forgot to me is near; Shadow and sunlight are the same ; The vanished gods to me appear; And one to me are shame and fame. They reckon ill who leave me out ; When me they fly, I am the wings ; I am the doubter and the doubt, And I the hymn the Brahmin sings.
Page 370 - To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core ; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel ; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For Summer has o'erbrimm'd their clammy cells.
Page 285 - Far-called, our navies melt away; On dune and headland sinks the fire: Lo, all our pomp of yesterday Is one with Nineveh and Tyre ! Judge of the Nations, spare us yet, Lest we forget - lest we forget...
Page 285 - The tumult and the shouting dies; The captains and the kings depart: Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice, An humble and a contrite heart. Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget— lest we forget!
Page 180 - Tread softly — bow the head — in reverent silence bow ; — no passing bell doth toll, yet an immortal soul is passing now. Stranger ! however great, with lowly reverence bow : there's one in that poor shed — one by that paltry bed — greater than thou.
Page 47 - Over dews, over sands, Will I fly for your weal: Your holy, delicate white hands Shall girdle me with steel. At home, in your emerald bowers, From morning's dawn till e'en, You'll pray for me, my flower of flowers, My Dark Rosaleen!
Page 47 - I could kneel all night in prayer, To heal your many ills! And one . . . beamy smile from you Would float like light between My toils and me, my own, my true, My Dark Rosaleen! My fond Rosaleen! Would give me life and soul anew, A second life, a soul anew, My Dark Rosaleen!
Page 102 - Thracian ships and the foreign faces, The tongueless vigil, and all the pain. Come with bows bent and with emptying of quivers, Maiden most perfect, lady of light, With a noise of winds and many rivers, With a...
Page 180 - BE NOBLE ! and the nobleness that lies In other men, sleeping, but never dead, Will rise in majesty to meet thine own ; Then wilt thou see it gleam in many eyes, Then will pure light around thy path be shed, And thou wilt nevermore be sad and lone.