City Poems

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Ticknor and Fields, 1857 - 138 pages

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Page 43 - I know thee as my mother's face. When sunset bathes thee in his gold, In wreaths of bronze thy sides are rolled, Thy smoke is dusky fire ; And, from the glory round thee poured, A sunbeam like an angel's sword Shivers upon a spire. Thus have I watched thee, Terror ! Dream ! While the blue Night crept up the stream.
Page 136 - ... scorn I dared to shed On human passions, hopes, and jars, I — standing on the countless dead, And pitied by the countless stars. But mine is now a humbled heart, My lonely pride is weak as tears ; No more I seek to stand apart, A mocker of the rolling years. Imprisoned in this wintry clime...
Page 25 - I could not drive away the thought that you were lingering there. 0 many and many a winter night I sat when you were gone, My worn face buried in my hands, beside the fire alone. Within the dripping churchyard, the rain plashing on your stone, You were sleeping, Barbara. 'Mong angels, do you think Of the precious golden link I clasped around your happy arm while sitting by yon brink?
Page 26 - I've changed ; Wild and far my heart has ranged, And many sins and errors now have been on me avenged ; But to you I have been faithful, whatsoever good I...
Page 44 - ... midnight, when thy suburbs lie As silent as a noonday sky, When larks with heat are mute, I love to linger on thy bridge, All lonely as a mountain ridge, Disturbed but by my foot : While the black lazy stream beneath, Steals from its far-off wilds of heath. And through thy heart, as through a dream, Flows on that black disdainful stream ; All scornfully it flows, Between the huddled gloom of masts, Silent as pines unvexed by blasts — 'Tween lamps in streaming rows. O wondrous sight ! O stream...
Page 24 - BARBARA ON the Sabbath-day, Through the churchyard old and gray, Over the crisp and yellow leaves, I held my rustling way; And amid the words of mercy, falling on my soul like balms; 'Mid the gorgeous storms of music — in the mellow organcalms, 'Mid the upward streaming prayers, and the rich and solemn psalms, I stood careless, Barbara.
Page 99 - THE morn rose blue and glorious o'er the world; The steamer left the black and oozy wharves, And floated down between dark ranks of masts. We heard the swarming streets, the noisy mills; Saw sooty foundries full of glare and gloom, Great bellied chimneys tipped by tongues of flame Quiver in smoky heat. We slowly passed Loud building-yards, where every slip contained A mighty vessel with a hundred men Battering its iron sides. A cheer ! a ship In a gay flutter of innumerous flags Slid gaily to her...
Page 120 - Love, unreturned, Hath gracious uses ; the keen pang departs, The sweetness never. Sorrow's touch doth ope A mingled fount of sweet and bitter tears, No summer's heat can dry, no winter's cold Lock up in ice. When music grieves, the past Returns in tears.

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