The Princess: A Medley

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Macmillan Company, 1902 - 173 pages

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Page 58 - Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth. of some divine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy Autumn-fields, And thinking of the days that are no more.
Page 57 - The splendour falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story : The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
Page 128 - Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white ; Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk; Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font : The firefly wakens : waken thou with me. " Now droops the milkwhite peacock like a ghost, And like a ghost she glimmers on to me. " Now lies the Earth all Danae to the stars, And all thy heart lies open unto me.
Page 59 - Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That brings our friends up from the underworld ; Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge ; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.
Page 81 - THY voice is heard thro' rolling drums, That beat to battle where he stands ; Thy face across his fancy comes, And gives the battle to his hands : A moment, while the trumpets blow, He sees his brood about thy knee ; The next, like fire he meets the foe, And strikes him dead for thine and thee. So Lilia sang : we thought her half-possess'd, She struck such warbling fury thro...
Page 129 - To glide a sunbeam by the blasted Pine, To sit a star upon the "sparkling spire; And come, for Love is of the valley, come, For Love is of the valley, come thou down And find him ; by the happy threshold...
Page 130 - ... broken purpose waste in air : So waste not thou ; but come; for all the vales Await thee ; azure pillars of the hearth Arise to thee; the children call, and I Thy shepherd pipe, and sweet is every sound, Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet; Myriads of rivulets hurrying thro' the lawn, The moan of doves in immemorial elms, And murmuring of innumerable bees.
Page 132 - Sweet Love were slain : his dearest bond is this, Not like to like, but like in difference. Yet in the long years liker must they grow ; The man be more of woman, she of man...
Page 23 - The Princess ; liker to the inhabitant Of some clear planet close upon the Sun, Than our man's earth ; such eyes were in her head, And so much grace and power, breathing down From over her arch'd brows, with every turn Lived thro' her to the tips of her long hands, And to her feet.
Page 132 - ... man be more of woman, she of man ; He gain in sweetness and in moral height, Nor lose the wrestling thews that throw the world ; She mental breadth, nor fail in childward care...

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