POEMS

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Seite 159 - The swallows all have wing'd across the main ; But here the Autumn melancholy dwells, And sighs her tearful spells Amongst the sunless shadows of the plain. Alone, alone, Upon a mossy stone, She sits and reckons up the dead and gone, With the last leaves for a love-rosary...
Seite 3 - We watched her breathing through the night, Her breathing soft and low, As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro. " ' So silently we seemed to speak, So slowly moved about, As we had lent her half our powers To eke her living out. " ' Our very hopes belied our fears ; Our fears our hopes belied ; We thought her dying when she slept, And sleeping when she died.
Seite vii - Strong the earthy odor grows — I smell the mould above the rose ! Welcome life ! the spirit strives ! • Strength returns and hope revives; Cloudy fears and shapes forlorn Fly like shadows at the morn, — O'er the earth there comes a bloom ; Sunny light for sullen gloom, Warm perfume for vapor cold — I smell the rose above the mould ! April, 1845.
Seite 102 - So, while I fondly imagined we were deceiving my relations, and flattered myself that I should outwit and incense them all — behold my hopes are to be crushed at once, by my aunt's consent and approbation — and I am myself the only dupe at last! — [Walking about in a heat.} But here, sir, here is the picture — Beverley's picture!
Seite 148 - Twas papered o'er with studious themes, The tasks I wrote — my present dreams Will never soar so high ! My joys are wingless all and dead ; My dumps are made of more than lead ; My flights soon find a fall ; My fears prevail, my fancies droop, Joy never cometh with a hoop, And seldom with a call...
Seite 210 - To his tuned spirit the wild heather-bells Ring Sabbath knells ; The jubilate of the soaring lark Is chant of clerk ; For choir, the thrush and the gregarious linnet ; The sod's a cushion for his pious want ; And, consecrated by the heav'n within it, The sky-blue pool, a font.
Seite 147 - OH, when I was a tiny boy, My days and nights were full of joy, My mates were blithe and kind ! — No wonder that I sometimes sigh, And dash the teardrop from my eye, To cast a look behind ! A hoop was an eternal round Of pleasure. In those days I found A top a joyous thing ; — But now those past delights I drop, My head, alas ! is all my top, And careful thoughts the string ! My...
Seite 7 - LOVE thy mother, little one ! Kiss and clasp her neck again, — Hereafter she may have a son Will kiss and clasp her neck in vain. Love thy mother, little one ! Gaze upon her living eyes, And mirror back her love for thee, — Hereafter thou mayst shudder sighs To meet them when they cannot see. Gaze upon her living eyes ! Press her lips the while they glow With love that they have often told, — Hereafter thou mayst press in woe, And kiss them till thine own are cold.
Seite 228 - Perchance thou deem'st it were a thing To wear a crown, — to be a king ! And sleep on regal down ! Alas ! thou know'st not kingly cares ; Far happier is thy head that wears That hat without a crown...
Seite 187 - There is a silence where hath been no sound; There is a silence where no sound may be, In the cold grave — under the deep, deep sea, Or in wide desert where no life is found, ° Which hath been mute, and still must sleep profound; No voice is hushed — no life treads silently, \.> But clouds and cloudy shadows wander free That never spoke, over the idle ground.

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