the poetical works of edward rowland sill

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Page 245 - The jester doffed his cap and bells, And stood the mocking court before; , They could not see the bitter smile Behind the painted grin he wore. He bowed his head, and bent his knee Upon the monarch's silken stool; His pleading voice arose: "O Lord, Be merciful to me, a fool!
Page 247 - THIS I beheld, or dreamed it in a dream : — There spread a cloud of dust along a plain ; And underneath the cloud, or in it, raged A furious battle, and men yelled, and swords Shocked upon swords and shields. A prince's banner Wavered, then staggered backward, hemmed by foes. A craven hung along the battle's edge, And thought, " Had I a sword of keener steel — That blue blade that the king's son bears, — but this Blunt thing — !" he snapt and flung it from his hand, And lowering crept away...
Page 197 - There is no world beyond this certain drop. Prove me another ! Let the dreamers dream Of their faint dreams, and noises from without, And higher and lower ; life is life enough.
Page 245 - No pity, Lord, could change the heart From red with wrong to white as wool ; The rod must heal the sin: but, Lord, Be merciful to me, a fool!
Page 316 - This is our earth, — most friendly earth and fair. Daily its sea and shore through sun and shadow Faithful it turns, robed in its azure air. "There is blest living here, loving and serving, And quest of truth and serene...
Page 198 - t was gone ; the leaf was dry. The little ghost of an inaudible squeak Was lost to the frog that goggled from his stone ; Who, at the huge, slow tread of a thoughtful ox Coming to drink, stirred sideways fatly, plunged, Launched backward twice, and all the pool was still.
Page 273 - Life is a game the soul can play With fewer pieces than men say. Only to grow as the grass grows, Prating not of joys or woes; To burn as the steady hearth-fire burns ; To shine as the star can shine, Or only as the mote of dust that turns Darkling and twinkling in the beam of light divine...
Page 197 - Then swaggering half a hair's breadth, hungrily He seized upon an atom of bug, and fed. One was a tattered monad, called a poet; And with shrill voice ecstatic thus he sang: "Oh, the little female monad's lips! Oh, the little female monad's eyes: Ah, the little, little, female, female monad!
Page 247 - Had I a sword of keener steel — That blue blade that the king's son bears, — but this Blunt thing —!" he snapt and flung it from his hand, And lowering crept away and left the field. Then came the king's son, wounded, sore bestead, And weaponless, and saw the broken sword, Hilt-buried in the dry and trodden sand, And ran and snatched it, and with battle-shout Lifted afresh he hewed his enemy down, And saved a great cause that heroic day.
Page 34 - Naked from out that far abyss behind us We entered here : No word came with our coming to remind us What wondrous world was near, No hope, no fear. Into the silent, starless Night before us, Naked we glide : No hand has mapped the constellations o'er us, No comrade at our side, No chart, no guide.

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