Poems, chiefly lyrical, compiled and arranged by G.H. Struttprivate circulation, 1866 - 240 pages |
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Results 1-5 of 31
Page vi
... Grave .. My Days among the Dead .. Earth - Light Evening - Glow .. Moonlight in the Tropics The Evening Star The Sea at Evening Acre .. : : : : : 182 183 184 .. 185 .. 186 188 189 190 PAGE The Measure The Going of my Bride A Lament vi ...
... Grave .. My Days among the Dead .. Earth - Light Evening - Glow .. Moonlight in the Tropics The Evening Star The Sea at Evening Acre .. : : : : : 182 183 184 .. 185 .. 186 188 189 190 PAGE The Measure The Going of my Bride A Lament vi ...
Page vii
... Grave .. 212 The Martyrs of the Crimea .. 213 It is not the tear The Return after Death The North - Easter Winter Musings Winter Longings .. Night .. Night in the Coliseum .. 214 .. 215 .. 216 .. 218 : 219 220 : 220 Midnight at Sea The ...
... Grave .. 212 The Martyrs of the Crimea .. 213 It is not the tear The Return after Death The North - Easter Winter Musings Winter Longings .. Night .. Night in the Coliseum .. 214 .. 215 .. 216 .. 218 : 219 220 : 220 Midnight at Sea The ...
Page 4
... grave , I wait until the ocean ebbs away . ' Hushed on the Angel's breast I saw an Infant rest , Smiling upon the gloomy hell below . ' What is the Infant prest , O Angel , to thy breast ? " The child God gave me in the Long Ago ...
... grave , I wait until the ocean ebbs away . ' Hushed on the Angel's breast I saw an Infant rest , Smiling upon the gloomy hell below . ' What is the Infant prest , O Angel , to thy breast ? " The child God gave me in the Long Ago ...
Page 11
... grave , Allured by the roses on shore . Though I measure my movements by no man's taste , Whether he ask me to halt or haste , Yet I time my way to the best of my power , That the fairest place has the fairest hour ; Behold , in the ...
... grave , Allured by the roses on shore . Though I measure my movements by no man's taste , Whether he ask me to halt or haste , Yet I time my way to the best of my power , That the fairest place has the fairest hour ; Behold , in the ...
Page 18
... graves grass - green beside a gray church - tower , Washed with still rains and daisy - blossomed ; Two children in one ... grave was green ; And near it oftentimes was seen A gentle Boy , with thoughtful mien . Years fled : -He wore a ...
... graves grass - green beside a gray church - tower , Washed with still rains and daisy - blossomed ; Two children in one ... grave was green ; And near it oftentimes was seen A gentle Boy , with thoughtful mien . Years fled : -He wore a ...
Common terms and phrases
A. C. Swinburne Abba Father angels beauty beloved bless breast breath breeze bright Bulwer Lytton Charles Mackay clouds cold dark dead dear death deep divine dream earth evermore eyes fear flowers Frederick Tennyson Gerald Massey gleam gloom glory glow gold golden grave grief H. F. Lyte hand happy hath hear heart heaven Holytide hope hour kiss land leaves life's light lips lonely look Lord Lord Byron Lord Houghton love thee Miss Procter moon morn mountain neath never night o'er Owen Meredith pain pass rain rest rill Ring river rose round shade shadow shine sigh sing skies sleep smiles snow soft song sorrow soul spirit spring star storm stream summer sweet tears Tennyson thine Thou art thought thro tomb tree voice wave weary weep wild Wild hopes wind winter youth
Popular passages
Page 59 - I BRING fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams ; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder.
Page 167 - Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, And stars to set, but all — Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death...
Page 238 - That nothing walks with aimless feet; That not one life shall be destroyed, Or cast as rubbish to the void, When God hath made the pile complete...
Page 61 - The triumphal arch through which I march With hurricane, fire, and snow, When the Powers of the air are chained to my chair, Is the million-coloured bow; The sphere-fire above its soft colours wove, While the moist Earth was laughing below. I am the daughter of Earth and Water, And the nursling of the Sky; I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores; I change, but I cannot die.
Page 154 - I remember, I remember Where I was used to swing, And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing ; My spirit flew in feathers then That is so heavy now, And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow. I remember, I remember The fir-trees dark and high ; I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky. It was a childish ignorance, — But now 'tis little joy: To know I'm farther off from heaven Than when I was a boy ! THOMAS HOOD.
Page 136 - The intelligible forms of ancient poets, The fair humanities of old religion, The power, the beauty, and the majesty, That had their haunts in dale, or piny mountain, Or forest by slow stream, or pebbly spring. Or chasms and wat'ry depths ; all these have vanished They live no longer in the faith of reason...
Page 165 - And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come, To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home ; When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still, And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more.
Page 28 - THIS world is all a fleeting show For man's illusion given; The smiles of joy, the tears of woe, Deceitful shine, deceitful flow, — There's nothing true but Heaven...
Page 164 - THE melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead ; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread ; The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. Where are the flowers, the fair young...
Page 137 - Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind; In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be; In the soothing thoughts that spring Out of human suffering; In the faith that looks through death, In years that bring the philosophic mind.