A Festival of Art, Poetry and Song: Selections from the Greatest Poets of the English Language

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Scammell, 1880 - 392 páginas
 

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Página 315 - His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man. Week in, week out, from morn till night, You can hear his bellows blow; You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, With measured beat and slow, Like a sexton ringing the village bell, When the evening sun is low.
Página 39 - GOING TO THE WARS Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly. True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honour more.
Página 21 - With a bare bodkin ? who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life ; But that the dread of something after death, — The undiscovered country, from whose bourn No traveller returns, — puzzles the will ; And makes us rather bear those ills we have, Than fly to others that we know not of?
Página 220 - Oft in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Fond memory brings the light Of other days around me: The smiles, the tears Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken; The eyes that shone, Now dimmed and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken! Thus in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Sad memory brings the light Of other days around me.
Página 44 - You haste away so soon: As yet the early-rising Sun Has not attained his noon. Stay, stay, Until the hasting day Has run But to the even-song; And, having prayed together, we Will go with you along. We have short time to stay, as you, We have as short a Spring; As quick a growth to meet decay As you, or any thing. We die, As your hours do, and dry Away Like to the Summer's rain; Or as the pearls of morning's dew, Ne'er to be found again.
Página 83 - Why shrinks the soul Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? 'Tis the divinity that stirs within us; 'Tis Heaven itself that points out an hereafter, And intimates eternity to man.
Página 135 - He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all. And, as a bird each fond endearment tries, To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.
Página 31 - Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments : love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove : O no ; it is an ever-fixed mark, That looks on tempests, and is never shaken ; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth 's unknown, although his height be taken.
Página 36 - Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill: But their strong nerves at last must yield; They tame but one another still: Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death.
Página 274 - That orbed maiden, with white fire laden, Whom mortals call the moon, Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, By the midnight breezes strewn ; And wherever the beat of her unseen feet, Which only the angels hear, May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, The stars peep behind her and peer...

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