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Сторінка 23 - mid these dancing rocks at once and ever It flung up momently the sacred river.
Сторінка 19 - The night is chill; the forest bare; Is it the wind that moaneth bleak? There is not wind enough in the air To move away the ringlet curl From the lovely lady's cheek There is not wind enough to twirl The one red leaf, the last of its clan, That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light, and hanging so high, On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.
Сторінка 24 - But yester-night I prayed aloud In anguish and in agony, Up-starting from the fiendish crowd Of shapes and thoughts that tortured me : A lurid light, a trampling throng, Sense of intolerable wrong, And whom I scorned, those only strong!
Сторінка 20 - Alas! they had been friends in youth; But whispering tongues can poison truth; And constancy lives in realms above; And life is thorny; and youth is vain; And to be wroth with one we love Doth work like madness in the brain.
Сторінка 286 - Concerning Jesus of Nazareth, which was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people: And how the chief priests and our rulers delivered him to be condemned to death, and have crucified him.
Сторінка 358 - Come as the winds come, when Forests are rended ; Come as the waves come, when Navies are stranded : Faster come, faster come, Faster and faster, Chief, vassal, page, and groom, Tenant and master.
Сторінка 20 - But never either found another To free the hollow heart from paining — They stood aloof, the scars remaining, Like cliffs which had been rent asunder ; A dreary sea now flows between, But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder, Shall wholly do away, I ween, The marks of that which once hath been.
Сторінка 20 - tis pretty to force together Thoughts so all unlike each other ; ' To mutter and mock a broken charm, To dally with wrong that does no harm. Perhaps 'tis tender too and pretty At each wild word to feel within A sweet recoil of love and pity.