Poets in the PulpitSampson, Law, Marston, Searle & Rivington, 1880 - 291 стор. |
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Сторінка 19
... Comes that messenger divine , Takes the vacant chair beside me , Lays her gentle hand in mine . And she sits and gazes at me With those deep and tender eyes , — Like the stars , so still and saint - like , Looking downward from the ...
... Comes that messenger divine , Takes the vacant chair beside me , Lays her gentle hand in mine . And she sits and gazes at me With those deep and tender eyes , — Like the stars , so still and saint - like , Looking downward from the ...
Сторінка 25
... comes up , which you cannot well drown , and which you should never forget . You cannot take up a newspaper without read- ing of fearful distress in the north of England , where trade is paralyzed to such an extent that hundreds and ...
... comes up , which you cannot well drown , and which you should never forget . You cannot take up a newspaper without read- ing of fearful distress in the north of England , where trade is paralyzed to such an extent that hundreds and ...
Сторінка 42
... comes to his aid , than which nothing fitter can be imagined . How lovely are the fast - fixed things of childish memory , that outlast the shocks of time and all the troubled days of middle life ! " Those priceless flowers , which in ...
... comes to his aid , than which nothing fitter can be imagined . How lovely are the fast - fixed things of childish memory , that outlast the shocks of time and all the troubled days of middle life ! " Those priceless flowers , which in ...
Сторінка 44
... comes upon us . Or who cannot feel the sea coast and the sea at night in olden time in 66 Only the rounded moon Through the tall oriel on the rolling sea " ? Or some long avenue of odorous limes , like the Trinity Avenue at the ...
... comes upon us . Or who cannot feel the sea coast and the sea at night in olden time in 66 Only the rounded moon Through the tall oriel on the rolling sea " ? Or some long avenue of odorous limes , like the Trinity Avenue at the ...
Сторінка 59
... comes on his soul the ever - recurrent agony for the sinfulness of his nature . Every pain of his chafing body , and every resistance to the torture which he is undergoing , seems to him to be but another sign of the wretched depravity ...
... comes on his soul the ever - recurrent agony for the sinfulness of his nature . Every pain of his chafing body , and every resistance to the torture which he is undergoing , seems to him to be but another sign of the wretched depravity ...
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Сторінка 248 - Earth has not anything to show more fair ! Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty. This city now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning : silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples, lie Open unto the fields and to the sky, All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Сторінка 21 - Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream ! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real ! Life is earnest ! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Сторінка 18 - There is no Death ! What seems so is transition. This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian, Whose portal we call Death.
Сторінка 274 - Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forced fingers rude, Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. 5 Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear, Compels me to disturb your season due...
Сторінка 16 - THERE is a Reaper, whose name is Death, And, with his sickle keen, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, And the flowers that grow between.
Сторінка 275 - There entertain him all the Saints above, In solemn troops, and sweet societies, That sing, and singing in their glory move, And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Сторінка 237 - Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright ; The bridal of the earth and sky : The dew shall weep thy fall to-night, For thou must die. Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die.
Сторінка 269 - When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's •waste...
Сторінка 267 - That time of year thou may'st in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou seest the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
Сторінка 251 - SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love: A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye! — Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky.