Repentance: And Other Poems

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Page 105 - Our life is two-fold : Sleep hath its own world, A boundary between the things misnamed Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world, And a wide realm of wild reality. And dreams in their development have breath, And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy...
Page 89 - Some feelings are to mortals given, With less of earth in them than heaven ; And if there be a human tear From passion's dross refined and clear, A tear so limpid and so meek, It would not stain an angel's cheek, 'Tis that which pious fathers shed Upon a duteous daughter's head...
Page 79 - Yet perhaps it loves me because I bring To its cage the drops from the clearest spring, And hang green branches around the door : Something surely must love me more. Who loves me best? My sister fair, With her laughing eyes and clustering hair — Who flowers around my head doth twine — Who presseth her rosy lips to mine — Who singeth me songs in her artless glee : Can any love me better than she ? Yet, when I asked, that sister confess'd, Of all, she did not love me the best ! Who loves me best?
Page 95 - THE CLOUDS. THE clouds ! the clouds ! they are beautiful When they sleep on the soft spring sky, As if the sun to rest could lull Their snowy company; And as the wind springs up they start, And career o'er the azure plain, And before the course of the breezes dart, To scatter their balmy rain. The clouds ! the clouds! how change their forms With every passing breath; And now a glancing sunbeam warms, And now they look cold as death! Oh ! often...
Page 97 - Now it shews their folds between, As if a silver veil were rent From the jewelled brow of a queen. The clouds ! the clouds ! they are the lid To the lightning's flashing eye ; And in their fleecy...
Page 81 - He who formed those frail, dear things, To which thy young heart fondly clings, — Even though all should forsake thee still, He would protect thee through every ill. Oh, is not such love worth all the rest ? — Child ! it is God who loves thee best !
Page 96 - ... glancing sunbeam warms, And now they look cold as death ! Oh ! often and often have I escaped From the stir of the noisy crowd, And a thousand fanciful visions shaped On the face of a passing cloud. The clouds ! the clouds ! round the sun at night, They come like a band of slaves, They are only bright in their master's light, And each in his glory laves.
Page 78 - Who loves me best ? — my father dear, Who loveth to have me always near ; He whom I fly each eve to meet, When past away is the noontide heat ; Who from the bank where the sunbeam lies.
Page 78 - That she some time must pass away : Who then shall shield me from earthly ill? Some one must love me better still Who loves me best ? — My father dear, Who loveth to have me always near ; He whom I fly each eve to meet, When...

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