The Poetical Works of Henry Kirke White

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W. Scott, Limited, 1897 - 296 pages
 

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Page 191 - Go, lovely rose ! Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied. That hadst thou sprung In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired : Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. Then die ! that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee, — How...
Page 193 - IT is not that my lot is low, That bids this silent tear to flow ; It is not grief that bids me moan, It is that I am all alone. In woods and glens I love to roam, When the tired hedger hies him home ; Or by the woodland pool to rest, When pale the star looks on its breast. Yet when the silent evening sighs, With hallow'd airs and symphonies, My spirit takes another tone, And sighs that it is all alone.
Page 140 - Then since this world is vain, And volatile, and fleet, Why should I lay up earthly joys, Where rust corrupts, and moth destroys, And cares and sorrows eat ? 'Why fly from ill With anxious skill, When soon this hand will freeze, this throbbing heart be still?
Page 184 - And thou wilt turn our wandering feet, And thou wilt bless our way ; Till worlds shall fade, and faith shall greet The dawn of lasting day.
Page 185 - When, marshalled on the nightly plain, The glittering host bestud the sky, One Star alone, of all the train, Can fix the sinner's wandering eye. Hark ! hark ! to God the chorus breaks, From every host, from every gem ; But one alone the Saviour speaks, It is the star of Bethlehem.
Page 184 - LORD, another day is flown, And we, a lonely band, Are met once more before thy throne, To bless thy fostering hand. And wilt thou bend a listening ear, To praises low as ours ? Thou wilt!
Page xxii - Tired of earth And this diurnal scene, she springs aloft Through fields of air, pursues the flying storm, Rides on the vollied lightning through the heavens ; Or, yoked with whirlwinds, and the northern blast, Sweeps the long tract of day.
Page 307 - WHERE LOVE IS, THERE GOD IS ALSO. THE TWO PILGRIMS. WHAT MEN LIVE BY. THE GODSON. IF YOU NEGLECT THE FIRE, YOU DON'T PUT IT OUT. WHAT SHALL IT PROFIT A MAN ? 2/- Booklets by Count Tolstoy.
Page 188 - Rebel, ye waves, and o'er the land With threatening aspect roar ; The Lord uplifts His awful hand, And chains you to the shore.
Page 135 - Oh! none; — another busy brood of beings Will shoot up in the interim, and none Will hold him in remembrance. I shall sink As sinks a stranger in the crowded streets Of busy London: — Some short bustle's caused, A few inquiries, and the crowds close in, And all's forgotten.

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