Poems, Volume 7

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Page 145 - Leave your meadow grasses mellow, Mellow, mellow; Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow; Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot; Quit...
Page 168 - I pray you, what is the nest to me, My empty nest ? And what is the shore where I stood to see My boat sail down to the west ? Can I call that home where I anchor yet, Though my good man has sailed ? Can I call that home where my nest was set, Now all its hope hath failed ? 28 Songs of Seven.
Page 138 - 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!
Page 2 - Over the grass we stepped unto it, And God, He knoweth how blithe we were ! Never a voice to bid us eschew it ; Hey the green ribbon that showed so fair ! Hey the green ribbon ! we kneeled beside it, We parted the grasses dewy and sheen ; Drop over drop there filtered and slided A tiny bright beck that trickled between. Tinkle, tinkle, sweetly it sung to us, Light was our talk as of faery bells — Faery wedding-bells faintly rung to us, Down in their fortunate parallels.
Page 158 - They are only one times one. 0 moon ! in the night I have seen you sailing And shining so round and low. You were bright — ah, bright — but your light is failing ; You are nothing now but a bow.
Page 3 - ... we sing in the glorious weather Till one steps over the tiny strand, So narrow, in sooth, that still together On either brink we go hand in hand. The beck grows wider, the hands must sever. On either margin, our songs all done, We move apart, while she singeth ever, Taking the course of the stooping sun. He prays, " Come over " — I may not follow ; I cry,
Page 142 - The olde sea wall" (he cried) "is downe, The rising tide comes on apace, And boats adrift in yonder towne Go sailing uppe the market-place.
Page 166 - 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 5 - ... drooping, A tired queen with her state oppressed, Low by rushes and sword-grass stooping, Lies she soft on the waves at rest. The desert heavens have felt her sadness ; Her earth will weep her some dewy tears ; The wild beck ends her tune of gladness, And goeth stilly as soul that fears. We two walk on in our grassy places, On either marge of the moonlit flood, With the moon's own sadness in our faces, Where joy is withered, blossom and bud.
Page 140 - Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot; Quit the stalks of parsley hollow, 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.

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