PoemsHenry S. King, 1877 - 379 |
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Strona 5
... True Mussulman was I and sworn , For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid . Anight my shallop , rustling thro ' The low and bloomed foliage , drove The fragrant , glistening deeps , and clove The citron - shadows in the ...
... True Mussulman was I and sworn , For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid . Anight my shallop , rustling thro ' The low and bloomed foliage , drove The fragrant , glistening deeps , and clove The citron - shadows in the ...
Strona 24
... true love spells - True love interprets right alone . His light upon the letter dwells , For all the spirit is his own . So , if I waste words now , in trutn You must blame Love . His early rage Had force to make me rhyme in youth , And ...
... true love spells - True love interprets right alone . His light upon the letter dwells , For all the spirit is his own . So , if I waste words now , in trutn You must blame Love . His early rage Had force to make me rhyme in youth , And ...
Strona 38
... true- And what is life , that we should moan ? why make we such ado ? For ever and for ever , all in a blessed home- And there to wait a little while till you and Effie come- upon your breast- And the wicked cease from troubling , and ...
... true- And what is life , that we should moan ? why make we such ado ? For ever and for ever , all in a blessed home- And there to wait a little while till you and Effie come- upon your breast- And the wicked cease from troubling , and ...
Strona 47
... true heart , Even in her sight he loved so well ? IV . A fairy shield your Genius made And gave you on your natal ... true true - love , And the New - year will take ' em away . Old year , you must not go ; So long as you have been with ...
... true heart , Even in her sight he loved so well ? IV . A fairy shield your Genius made And gave you on your natal ... true true - love , And the New - year will take ' em away . Old year , you must not go ; So long as you have been with ...
Strona 49
... true breast Bleedeth for both ; yet it may be That only silence suiteth best . Words weaker than your grief would make Grief more . " I were better I should cease Although myself could almost take The place of him that sleeps in peace ...
... true breast Bleedeth for both ; yet it may be That only silence suiteth best . Words weaker than your grief would make Grief more . " I were better I should cease Although myself could almost take The place of him that sleeps in peace ...
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Popularne fragmenty
Strona 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.
Strona 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...
Strona 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...
Strona 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,...
Strona 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...
Strona 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...
Strona 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.
Strona 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...
Strona 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...
Strona 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.