Poems

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Macmillan, 1879 - 370 páginas

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Página 297 - Thou -waitest for the spark from heaven! and we, Light half-believers of our casual creeds, Who never deeply felt, nor clearly will'd...
Página 2 - Shakespeare OTHERS abide our question. Thou art free. We ask and ask — Thou smilest and art still, Out-topping knowledge. For the loftiest hill, Who to the stars uncrowns his majesty, Planting his steadfast footsteps in the sea, Making the heaven of heavens his dwelling-place, Spares but the cloudy border of his base To the...
Página 212 - But now I only hear Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, Retreating, to the breath Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear And naked shingles of the world.
Página 309 - He too upon a wintry clime Had fallen — on this iron time Of doubts, disputes, distractions, fears. He found us when the age had bound Our souls in its benumbing round ; He spoke, and loosed our heart in tears. He laid us as we lay at birth On the cool flowery lap of earth...
Página 173 - And will not, then, the immortal armies scorn The world's poor, routed leavings ? or will they, Who fail'd under the heat of this life's day, Support the fervours of the heavenly morn ? No, no ! the energy of life may be Kept on after the grave, but not begun ; And he who flagg'd not in the earthly strife, From strength to strength advancing — only he, His soul well-knit, and all his battles won, Mounts, and that hardly, to eternal life.
Página 276 - Unaffrighted by the silence round them, Undistracted by the sights they see, These demand not that the things without them Yield them love, amusement, sympathy.
Página 303 - I know the wood which hides the daffodil, I know the Fyfield tree, I know what white, what purple fritillaries The grassy harvest of the river-fields, Above by Ensham, down by Sandford, yields, And what sedged brooks are Thames's tributaries ; I know these slopes; who knows them if not I?
Página 340 - Ye slumber in your silent grave! — The world, which for an idle day Grace to your mood of sadness gave, Long since hath flung her weeds away.
Página 291 - And in the sun all morning binds the sheaves, Then here, at noon, comes back his stores to use — Here will I sit and wait, While to my ear from uplands far away The bleating of the folded flocks is borne, With distant cries of reapers in the corn — All the live murmur of a summer's day.
Página 293 - mid their drink and clatter, he would fly. And I myself seem half to know thy looks, And put the shepherds, wanderer! on thy trace...

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