Poems, chiefly lyrical, compiled and arranged by G.H. Struttprivate circulation, 1866 - 240 pages |
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Results 6-10 of 71
Page 27
... o'er the necks of Kings And over common things , - And into Earth's green orchards making way , Halts , where the fruits of human hope abound , And shakes their trembling ripeness to the ground . Mrs. Norton . XX . This world is all a ...
... o'er the necks of Kings And over common things , - And into Earth's green orchards making way , Halts , where the fruits of human hope abound , And shakes their trembling ripeness to the ground . Mrs. Norton . XX . This world is all a ...
Page 29
... O'er love and o'er slumber , go out one by one : Till the circle of ether , deep , ruddy , and vast , Scarce glimmers with one of the train that were there ; And their leader the day - star , the brightest and last , Twinkles faintly ...
... O'er love and o'er slumber , go out one by one : Till the circle of ether , deep , ruddy , and vast , Scarce glimmers with one of the train that were there ; And their leader the day - star , the brightest and last , Twinkles faintly ...
Page 30
... o'er faded flowers and cisterns broken ; Gazing on setting suns , that rise no more ; Listening to sad farewells , and last words spoken By loved ones leaving us on Jordan's shore ! How long , thro ' snares of error and temptation ...
... o'er faded flowers and cisterns broken ; Gazing on setting suns , that rise no more ; Listening to sad farewells , and last words spoken By loved ones leaving us on Jordan's shore ! How long , thro ' snares of error and temptation ...
Page 33
... o'er me ; Dropped from the almond - tree , sighing the blossom ; Trembling the maiden sprang up from my bosom ; Then the step of a stranger came mute thro ' the shadow , Pausing before me . He stood grey with age in the robe of a 333.
... o'er me ; Dropped from the almond - tree , sighing the blossom ; Trembling the maiden sprang up from my bosom ; Then the step of a stranger came mute thro ' the shadow , Pausing before me . He stood grey with age in the robe of a 333.
Page 34
... O'er the hoards of the Persian in lost Chil - Menar ; — Alas ! till that night happy youth had more treasures Than Ormus can yield . Morn came , and I went with my guest thro ' the gorges In the rock hollow'd ; The flocks bleated low as ...
... O'er the hoards of the Persian in lost Chil - Menar ; — Alas ! till that night happy youth had more treasures Than Ormus can yield . Morn came , and I went with my guest thro ' the gorges In the rock hollow'd ; The flocks bleated low as ...
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.