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Сторінка 109 - HERACLITUS THEY told me, Heraclitus, they told me you were dead ; They brought me bitter news to hear and bitter tears to shed. I wept as I remembered, how often you and I Had tired the sun with talking and sent him down the sky. And now that thou art lying, my dear old Carian guest, A handful of grey ashes, long, long ago at rest, Still are thy pleasant voices, thy nightingales, awake ; For Death, he taketh all away, but them he cannot take.
Сторінка 50 - We hurry with never a word in the track of our fathers. (I hear in my heart, I hear in its ominous pulses All day, on the road, the hoofs of invisible horses, All night, from their stalls, the importunate pawing and neighing.) We spur to a land of no name, out-racing the storm-wind; We leap to the infinite dark like sparks from the anvil. Thou leadest, O God! All's well with Thy troopers that follow.
Сторінка 51 - ... hoofs of invisible horses, All night, from their stalls, the importunate pawing and neighing. Let cowards and laggards fall back! but alert to the saddle Weatherworn and abreast, go men of our galloping legion, With a stirrup-cup each to the lily of women that loves him. The trail is through dolor and dread, over crags and morasses; There are shapes by the way, there are things that appal or entice us: What odds?
Сторінка 50 - The trail is through dolour and dread, over crags and morasses; There are shapes by the way, there are things that appal or entice us: What odds? We are Knights of the Grail, we are vowed to the riding.
Сторінка 71 - Are ye unwise who would not let me love you? Or must too bold desires be quieted? Only to ease you, never to reprove you, I will go back to heaven with heart unfed: Yet sisterly I turn, I bend above you, To kiss (ah, with what sorrow!) all my dead. Next to the Golden City of belief she had, as she began, continued to serve poetry, the "love of lovely words.
Сторінка 111 - Keep holy watch, with silence, prayer, and fasting, Till morning break and every bugle play. Unto the One aware from everlasting Dear are the winners : thou art more than they. Forth from this peace on manhood's way thou goest, Flushed with resolve, and radiant in mail ; Blessing supreme for men unborn thou sowest, O Knight elect ! O soul ordained to fail...
Сторінка 50 - And friendship a flower in the dust, and glory a sunbeam : Not here is our prize, nor, alas ! after these our pursuing. A dipping of plumes, a tear, a shake of the bridle, A passing salute to this world and her pitiful beauty ; We hurry with never a word in the track of our fathers.
Сторінка 59 - THE gusty morns are here, When all the reeds ride low with level spear ; And on such nights as lured us far of yore, Down rocky alleys yet, and through the pine, The Hound-star and the pagan Hunter shine: But I and thou, ah, field-fellow of mine, Together roam no more.
Сторінка 28 - This book, deriving its fortunate title from patrin, "a Gypsy trail : handfuls of leaves or grass cast by the Gypsies on the road, to denote to those behind the way which they have taken," is primarily for him whom reading "maketh a full man.
Сторінка 59 - The cowslip's common gold that children spy, The plume upon the larch. There is a music fills The oaks of Belmont and the Wayland hills Southward to Dewing's little bubbly stream, The heavenly weather's call ! Oh, who alive Hastes not to start, delays not to arrive, Having free feet that never felt a gyve Weigh, even in a dream?

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