PoemsPrivate Press of H. Daniel, 1884 - 52 pages |
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Common terms and phrases
adore Already awake beauty beſt birds blood bright brown charm cheer Clear comes death defire delight divine doft door doth dream earth eyes face fails fair fancy fear fhall filver fing fire flower flying fome fong forget forrow foul fummer fweet gentle ſtream grace green grow hand happy hath hear heard heart heaven herſelf hope hour idle leaping leave light live look mind moon morn muſt Nature never night once Painful pale path play pleaſant pleaſure pool praiſe purpoſe reaching rofe ſcattered ſcent ſhall ſhe ſmile ſpirit Spring ſtir ſtrain ſtream ſtrength ſweet tell tender thee thine things thoſe thou thought toil tongues touched treaſure trees trembled truth turn Twas voice Vpon Walking watch whither whoſe winter
Popular passages
Page 29 - A joy of love at sight, That ages in an hour:— My song be like a flower! I have loved airs that die Before their charm is writ Along a liquid sky Trembling to welcome it. Notes that with pulse of fire Proclaim the spirit's desire, Then die, and are nowhere:— My song be like an air! Die, song, die like a breath, And wither as a bloom: Fear not a flowery death, Dread not an airy tomb! Fly with delight, fly hence! 'Twas thine love's tender sense To feast; now on thy bier Beauty shall shed a tear.
Page 11 - ... grandest Peak, that is over the feathery palms more fair Than thou, so upright, so stately, and still thou standest. And yet, O splendid ship, unhailed and nameless, I know not if, aiming a fancy, I rightly divine That thou hast a purpose joyful, a courage blameless, Thy port assured in a happier land than mine. But for all I have given thee, beauty enough is thine, As thou, aslant with trim tackle and shrouding, From the proud nostril curve of a prow's line In the offing scatterest foam, thy...
Page 41 - Then comes the happy moment : not a stir In any tree, no portent in the sky : The morn doth neither hasten nor defer, The morrow hath no name to call it by, But life and joy are one, — we know not why, — As though our very blood long breathless lain Had tasted of the breath of God again.
Page 17 - THERE is a hill beside the silver Thames, Shady with birch and beech and odorous pine : And brilliant underfoot with thousand gems Steeply the thickets to his floods decline. Straight trees in every place Their thick tops interlace, And pendant branches trail their foliage fine Upon his watery face.
Page 45 - AWAKE, my heart, to be loved, awake, awake ! The darkness silvers away, the morn doth break, It leaps in the sky : unrisen lustres slake The o'ertaken moon. Awake, O heart, awake ! She too that loveth awaketh and hopes for thee ; Her eyes already have sped the shades that flee, Already they watch the path thy feet shall take : Awake, O heart, to be loved...
Page 45 - ... be, — She cometh herself, O heart, to be loved, to thee ; For thee would unashamed herself forsake : Awake to be loved, my heart, awake, awake ! Awake, the land is scattered with light, and see, Uncanopied sleep is flying from field and tree : And blossoming boughs of April in laughter shake ; Awake, O heart, to be loved, awake, awake...
Page 34 - ... to the stillness of the solemn air; No sound of wheel rumbling nor of foot falling, And the busy morning cries came thin and spare. Then boys I heard, as they went to school, calling, They gathered up the crystal manna to freeze...
Page 33 - London Snow When men were all asleep the snow came flying, In large white flakes falling on the city brown, Stealthily and perpetually settling and loosely lying, Hushing the latest traffic of the drowsy town...
Page 23 - And country life I praise, And lead, because I find The philosophic mind Can take no middle ways ; She will not leave her love To mix with men, her art Is all to strive above The crowd, or stand apart.
Page 37 - To me, as I move thee now in the last duty, Dost thou with a turn or gesture anon respond; Startling my fancy fond With a chance attitude of the head, a freak of beauty. Thy hand clasps, as 'twas wont, my finger, and holds it: But the grasp is the clasp of Death, heartbreaking and stiff; Yet feels to my hand as if 'Twas still thy will, thy pleasure and trust that enfolds it. So I lay thee there, thy...