PoemsHenry S. King, 1877 - 379 стор. |
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Сторінка 8
... father's door , And chiefly from the brook that loves To purl o'er matted cress and ribbed sand , Or dimple in the dark of rushy coves , Drawing into his narrow earthen urn , In every elbow and turn , The filter'd tribute of the rough ...
... father's door , And chiefly from the brook that loves To purl o'er matted cress and ribbed sand , Or dimple in the dark of rushy coves , Drawing into his narrow earthen urn , In every elbow and turn , The filter'd tribute of the rough ...
Сторінка 28
... father's eyes ! " O mother , hear me yet before I die . Hear me , O earth . I will not die alone , Lest their shrill happy laughter come to me Walking the cold and starless road of Death Uncomforted , leaving my ancient love With the ...
... father's eyes ! " O mother , hear me yet before I die . Hear me , O earth . I will not die alone , Lest their shrill happy laughter come to me Walking the cold and starless road of Death Uncomforted , leaving my ancient love With the ...
Сторінка 31
... father of the rest ; A million wrinkles carved his skin ; A hundred winters snow'd upon his breast , From cheek and throat and chin . Above , the fair hall - ceiling stately - set Many an arch high up did lift , And angels rising and ...
... father of the rest ; A million wrinkles carved his skin ; A hundred winters snow'd upon his breast , From cheek and throat and chin . Above , the fair hall - ceiling stately - set Many an arch high up did lift , And angels rising and ...
Сторінка 39
... Father - land , Of child , and wife , and slave ; but ever- more Most weary seem'd the sea , weary the oar , Weary the wandering fields of barren foam . Then some one said , " We will return no more " ; And all at once they sang , " Our ...
... Father - land , Of child , and wife , and slave ; but ever- more Most weary seem'd the sea , weary the oar , Weary the wandering fields of barren foam . Then some one said , " We will return no more " ; And all at once they sang , " Our ...
Сторінка 43
... father held his hand upon his face ; 1 , blinded with my tears , " Still strove to speak : my voice was thick with sighs As in a dream . Dimly I could descry The stern black - bearded kings with wolfish eyes , Waiting to see me die ...
... father held his hand upon his face ; 1 , blinded with my tears , " Still strove to speak : my voice was thick with sighs As in a dream . Dimly I could descry The stern black - bearded kings with wolfish eyes , Waiting to see me die ...
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answer'd arms Arthur ask'd beneath blood blow breath brows Caerleon call'd Camelot child cried damsel dark dead dear death deep Dora dream earth Edwin Morris Enid ev'n evermore Excalibur eyes face fair fear flower fool Gareth Gawain golden Guinevere hall hand happy hast hath hear heard heart heaven horse hour jousts King King Arthur kiss kiss'd knave knew Lady Lady of Shalott Lancelot land Lavaine light Limours lips live Locksley Hall look look'd lord maid maiden Merlin moon morn mother never night noble o'er once Queen rode rose round seem'd shadow shame Sir Bedivere Sir Kay Sir Lancelot Sir Pelleas sleep smile song soul spake speak star stept stood sweet tears thee thine things thou art thought thro turn'd vext voice weep wild wind words
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Сторінка 257 - The splendor falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story ; The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O, hark, O, hear! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going! O, sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
Сторінка 85 - For I dipt into the future, far as human eye could see, Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be ; Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of magic sails, Pilots of the purple twilight, dropping down with costly bales ; Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there rain'da ghastly dew From the nations...
Сторінка 300 - OH yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill, To pangs of nature, sins of will, Defects of doubt, and taints of blood; That nothing walks with aimless feet; That not one life shall be destroy'd, Or cast as rubbish to the void, When God hath made the pile complete...
Сторінка 257 - Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O, hark, O, hear! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going! O, sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O love, they die in yon rich sky. They faint on hill or field or river; Our echoes roll from soul to soul. And grow for ever and for ever. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, And answer, echoes,...
Сторінка 79 - As tho' to breathe were life. Life piled on life Were all too little, and of one to me Little remains: but every hour is saved From that eternal silence, something more, A bringer of new things; and vile it were For some three suns to store and hoard myself, And this gray spirit yearning in desire To follow knowledge like a sinking star, Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. This is my son, mine own Telemachus, To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil This...
Сторінка 237 - And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea. Where I will heal me of my grievous wound." So said he, and the barge with oar and sail Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere Revolving many memories, till the hull Look'd one black dot against the verge of dawn, And on the mere the wailing died away. But when that moan had past for evermore, The stillness of...
Сторінка 300 - Behold, we know not anything; I can but trust that good shall fall At last — far off — at last, to all, And every winter change to spring. So runs my dream: but what am I? An infant crying in the night: An infant crying for the light: And with no language but a cry.
Сторінка 53 - Excalibur, Which was my pride: for thou rememberest how In those old days, one summer noon, an arm Rose up from out the bosom of the lake, Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, Holding the sword — and how I...
Сторінка 236 - The old order changeth, yielding place to new, And God fulfils himself in many ways, Lest one good custom should corrupt the world. Comfort thyself : what comfort is in me ? I have lived my life, and that which I have done May He within himself make pure ! but thou, If thou shouldst never see my face again, Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice Rise like a fountain for me night and day. For what are men better than sheep or goats...
Сторінка 113 - O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, And the sound of a voice that is still ! Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O Sea ! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me.