Poems, chiefly lyrical, compiled and arranged by G.H. Struttprivate circulation, 1866 - 240 |
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Strona iii
... hand .. I'd mourn the hopes Absent , yet present Thy voice is heard Oh , why that falling tear The Newly Wedded The Departure A Study from the Antique Love at Ebb .. 78 79 .. 80 81 81 .. 82 84 85 86 87 87 88 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 ...
... hand .. I'd mourn the hopes Absent , yet present Thy voice is heard Oh , why that falling tear The Newly Wedded The Departure A Study from the Antique Love at Ebb .. 78 79 .. 80 81 81 .. 82 84 85 86 87 87 88 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 ...
Strona iv
... hand My little Love do you remember My Birth - Day .. .. .. Memories , the Food of Love What time the mighty moon I would we had not met again When we two parted They met but once Strangers yet ! That Day I stand where I last stood Her ...
... hand My little Love do you remember My Birth - Day .. .. .. Memories , the Food of Love What time the mighty moon I would we had not met again When we two parted They met but once Strangers yet ! That Day I stand where I last stood Her ...
Strona vi
... hands claspt Bright be the place of thy soul Weep not for her The Sleep Passing away , saith the World Passing away Year after year Snowdrops Hush ! Perfect Rest .. .. .. The Poet's Grave .. My Days among the Dead .. Earth - Light ...
... hands claspt Bright be the place of thy soul Weep not for her The Sleep Passing away , saith the World Passing away Year after year Snowdrops Hush ! Perfect Rest .. .. .. The Poet's Grave .. My Days among the Dead .. Earth - Light ...
Strona 5
... hand in hand . The beck grows wider , the hands must sever . On either margin , our songs all done , We move apart , while she singeth ever , Taking the course of the stooping sun . He prays , ' Come over ' - I may 5.
... hand in hand . The beck grows wider , the hands must sever . On either margin , our songs all done , We move apart , while she singeth ever , Taking the course of the stooping sun . He prays , ' Come over ' - I may 5.
Strona 6
... hands are hanging , our hearts are numb . No backward path ; ah ! no returning ; No second crossing that ripple's flow : ' Come to me now , for the west is burning ; Come ere it darkens - ah , no ! ah , no ! ' Then cries of pain , and ...
... hands are hanging , our hearts are numb . No backward path ; ah ! no returning ; No second crossing that ripple's flow : ' Come to me now , for the west is burning ; Come ere it darkens - ah , no ! ah , no ! ' Then cries of pain , and ...
Kluczowe wyrazy i wyrażenia
A. C. Swinburne Abba Father angels beauty beloved bless breast breath breeze bright Bulwer Lytton Charles Mackay clouds cold dark dead dear death deep divine dream earth evermore eyes fear flowers Frederick Tennyson Gerald Massey gleam gloom glory glow gold golden grave grief H. F. Lyte hand happy hath hear heart heaven Holytide hope hour kiss land leaves life's light lips lonely look Lord Lord Byron Lord Houghton love thee Miss Procter moon morn mountain neath never night o'er Owen Meredith pain pass rain rest rill Ring river rose round shade shadow shine sigh sing skies sleep smiles snow soft song sorrow soul spirit spring star storm stream summer sweet tears Tennyson thine Thou art thought thro tomb tree voice wave weary weep wild Wild hopes wind winter youth
Popularne fragmenty
Strona 59 - I BRING fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams ; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under, And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder.
Strona 167 - Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, And stars to set, but all — Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death...
Strona 238 - That nothing walks with aimless feet; That not one life shall be destroyed, Or cast as rubbish to the void, When God hath made the pile complete...
Strona 61 - The triumphal arch through which I march With hurricane, fire, and snow, When the Powers of the air are chained to my chair, Is the million-coloured bow; The sphere-fire above its soft colours wove, While the moist Earth was laughing below. I am the daughter of Earth and Water, And the nursling of the Sky; I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores; I change, but I cannot die.
Strona 154 - I remember, I remember Where I was used to swing, And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing ; My spirit flew in feathers then That is so heavy now, And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow. I remember, I remember The fir-trees dark and high ; I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky. It was a childish ignorance, — But now 'tis little joy: To know I'm farther off from heaven Than when I was a boy ! THOMAS HOOD.
Strona 136 - The intelligible forms of ancient poets, The fair humanities of old religion, The power, the beauty, and the majesty, That had their haunts in dale, or piny mountain, Or forest by slow stream, or pebbly spring. Or chasms and wat'ry depths ; all these have vanished They live no longer in the faith of reason...
Strona 165 - And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come, To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home ; When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still, And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more.
Strona 28 - THIS world is all a fleeting show For man's illusion given; The smiles of joy, the tears of woe, Deceitful shine, deceitful flow, — There's nothing true but Heaven...
Strona 164 - 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...
Strona 137 - Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind; In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be; In the soothing thoughts that spring Out of human suffering; In the faith that looks through death, In years that bring the philosophic mind.