Poems, chiefly lyrical, compiled and arranged by G.H. Struttprivate circulation, 1866 - 240 pages |
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Page 47
... lips I prest , the hands I caught— Myself - the crowd that mirth had brought Around me - swept like weeds away ! This thought it was that came to shed O'er rapture's hour its worst alloys ; And , close as shade with sunshine , wed Its ...
... lips I prest , the hands I caught— Myself - the crowd that mirth had brought Around me - swept like weeds away ! This thought it was that came to shed O'er rapture's hour its worst alloys ; And , close as shade with sunshine , wed Its ...
Page 73
... lips in misery , Longing , and yet afraid to die , Patient , tho ' sorely tried ! I pledge you in this cup of grief , Where floats the fennel's bitter leaf ! The Battle of our Life is brief , The alarm , —the struggle , —the relief ...
... lips in misery , Longing , and yet afraid to die , Patient , tho ' sorely tried ! I pledge you in this cup of grief , Where floats the fennel's bitter leaf ! The Battle of our Life is brief , The alarm , —the struggle , —the relief ...
Page 86
... sleeper , yet lies hidden , Loose not those arch lips from their rosy chain ; Be every answer , save your own , forbidden- Feelings are words for Eyes ! Sir E. Bulwer Lytton . LXVI . Keep those eyes still purely mine , Tho 86.
... sleeper , yet lies hidden , Loose not those arch lips from their rosy chain ; Be every answer , save your own , forbidden- Feelings are words for Eyes ! Sir E. Bulwer Lytton . LXVI . Keep those eyes still purely mine , Tho 86.
Page 87
... lips as now respond To sweet minstrelsy , When their accents seem most fond , Then think they're breathed for me . Make what hearts thou wilt thine own , If , when all on thee Fix their charmed thoughts alone , Thou think'st the while ...
... lips as now respond To sweet minstrelsy , When their accents seem most fond , Then think they're breathed for me . Make what hearts thou wilt thine own , If , when all on thee Fix their charmed thoughts alone , Thou think'st the while ...
Page 88
... lips comprest , And gave my letters back to me . And gave the trinkets and the rings , My gifts , when gifts of mine could please ; As looks a father on the things Of his dead son , I looked on these . She told me all her friends had ...
... lips comprest , And gave my letters back to me . And gave the trinkets and the rings , My gifts , when gifts of mine could please ; As looks a father on the things Of his dead son , I looked on these . She told me all her friends had ...
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.