My Early Days

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Thatcher & Hutchinson, 1859 - 425 páginas
 

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Página 148 - Of aspect more sublime: that blessed mood In which the burthen of the mystery, In which the heavy and the weary weight Of all this unintelligible world, Is lightened; that serene and blessed mood, In which the affections gently lead us on, Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul...
Página 180 - Now long that instrument has ceased to sound, Now long that gracious form in earth has lain Tended by nature only, and unwound Are all those mingled threads of Love and Pain ; So let me weep and bend My head and wait the end, Knowing that God creates not thus in vain.
Página 402 - Eden-sweetness glide; While the deluded gaze admires The smooth and shining flow, Vile inte'rests and insane desires Gurgle and rage below. If Histo'ry has no other sounds, Why should we listen more? Spirit! despise terrestrial bounds, And seek a happier shore; Yet pause! for on thine inner ear A mystic music grows,— And mortal man shall never hear That diapason's close.
Página 201 - ... Still earnest memory ever will be sad. When late I changed the still unpeopled air Of the clear South for this my mother clime, I quivered with delight, as every where Sweet birds in happy snatches hailed the prime ; A throstle's twitter made old walks arise, With lilac-bunches dancing in my eyes. What love we, about those we love the best, Better than their dear voices ? At what cost Would one not gather to an aching breast Each little word of some whom we have lost ? And oh ! how blank to hear,...
Página 165 - tis thou, God, that givest ; tis I, who receive. In the first is the last ; in Thy will is my power to believe.
Página 320 - Ev'n now we hear with inward strife A motion toiling in the gloom — The Spirit of the years to come Yearning to mix himself with Life.
Página 103 - When in the down I sink my head, Sleep, Death's twin-brother, times my breath; Sleep, Death's twin-brother, knows not Death, Nor can I dream of thee as dead: I walk as ere I walk'd forlorn, When all our path was fresh with dew, And all the bugle breezes blew Reveille^ to the breaking morn. But what is this? I turn about, I find a trouble in thine eye, Which makes me sad I know not why, Nor can my dream resolve the doubt: But ere the lark hath left the lea I wake, and I discern the truth; It is the...
Página 155 - I want to tell you that — I am — very sorry for what I did last summer, and to ask you to forgive me.
Página 345 - Tis our stored and ample dwelling, 'Tis from it the skies we see. Wind and frost, and hour and season, Land and water, sun and shade, Work with these, as bids thy reason, For they work thy toil to aid. Sow thy seed and reap in gladness ! Man himself is all a seed ; Hope and hardship, joy and sadness, Slow the plant to ripeness lead.
Página 134 - Alas, that love should be a blight and snare To those who seek all sympathies in one ! Such once I sought in vain ; then black despair, The shadow of a starless night, was thrown Over the world in which I moved alone...

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