PoemsHenry S. King, 1877 - 379 стор. |
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Сторінка 5
... voice untuneful grown , Wears all day a fainter tone . II . I would mock thy chant anew ; But I cannot mimic it ; Not a whit of thy tuwhoo , Thee to woo to thy tuwhit , Thee to woo to thy tuwhit , With a lengthen'd loud halloo , Tuwhoo ...
... voice untuneful grown , Wears all day a fainter tone . II . I would mock thy chant anew ; But I cannot mimic it ; Not a whit of thy tuwhoo , Thee to woo to thy tuwhit , Thee to woo to thy tuwhit , With a lengthen'd loud halloo , Tuwhoo ...
Сторінка 13
... voice the river ran , Adown it floated a dying swan , And loudly did lament . It was the middle of the day . Ever the weary wind went on , And took the reed - tops as it went . II . Some blue peaks in the distance rose , And white ...
... voice the river ran , Adown it floated a dying swan , And loudly did lament . It was the middle of the day . Ever the weary wind went on , And took the reed - tops as it went . II . Some blue peaks in the distance rose , And white ...
Сторінка 15
... voice of power ; But at night I would roam abroad and play With the mermaids in and out of the rocks , Dressing their hair with the white sea- flower ; And holding them back by their flowing locks I would kiss them often under the sea ...
... voice of power ; But at night I would roam abroad and play With the mermaids in and out of the rocks , Dressing their hair with the white sea- flower ; And holding them back by their flowing locks I would kiss them often under the sea ...
Сторінка 26
... voice , Elected umpire , Herè comes to - day , Pallas and Aphrodite , claiming each This meed of fairest . Thou , within the cave Behind yon whispering tuft of oldest pine , Mayst well behold them unbeheld , un- heard Hear all , and see ...
... voice , Elected umpire , Herè comes to - day , Pallas and Aphrodite , claiming each This meed of fairest . Thou , within the cave Behind yon whispering tuft of oldest pine , Mayst well behold them unbeheld , un- heard Hear all , and see ...
Сторінка 32
... voice , " she shriek'd in that lone hall , " No voice breaks thro ' the stillness of this world : One deep , deep silence all ! " She , mouldering with the dull earth's mouldering sod , Inwrapt tenfold in slothful shame , Lay there ...
... voice , " she shriek'd in that lone hall , " No voice breaks thro ' the stillness of this world : One deep , deep silence all ! " She , mouldering with the dull earth's mouldering sod , Inwrapt tenfold in slothful shame , Lay there ...
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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.