POEMS

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Strona 41 - Whither, midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way?
Strona 153 - THE melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead ; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread ; The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers...
Strona 32 - To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language ; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty ; and she glides Into his darker musings with a mild And gentle sympathy that steals away Their sharpness ere he is aware.
Strona 214 - Thou waitest late, and com'st alone, When woods are bare, and birds are flown, And frosts and shortening days portend The aged Year is near his end. Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye Look through its fringes to the sky, Blue — blue — as if that sky let fall A flower from its cerulean wall.
Strona 207 - The faint old man shall lean his silver head To feel thee; thou shalt kiss the child asleep, And dry the moistened curls that overspread His temples, while his breathing grows more deep: And they who stand about the sick man's bed, Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep, And softly part his curtains to allow Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow.
Strona 34 - Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 'Where rolls the Oregon and hears no sound Save his own dashings — yet the dead are there ; And millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years began, have laid them down In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone.
Strona 132 - ... breath That from the inmost darkness of the place Comes, scarcely felt ; the barky trunks, the ground, The fresh moist ground, are all instinct with thee. Here is continual worship; — nature, here, In the tranquillity that thou dost love, Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly, around, From perch to perch, the solitary bird Passes ; and yon clear spring, that, midst its herbs, Wells softly forth and visits the strong roots Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale Of all the good it does.
Strona 138 - There, through the long, long summer hours, The golden light should lie, And thick young herbs and groups of flowers Stand in their beauty by. The oriole should build and tell His love-tale, close beside my cell ; The idle butterfly Should rest him there, and there be heard The housewife bee and humming bird.
Strona 134 - God ! when thou Dost scare the world with tempests, set on fire The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill With all the waters of the firmament The swift dark whirlwind that uproots...
Strona 206 - SPIRIT that breathest through my lattice, thou That cool'st the twilight of the sultry day, Gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow ; Thou hast been out upon the deep at play, Riding all day the wild blue waves till now, Roughening their crests, and scattering high their spray, And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the sea...

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