English Songs, and Other Small Poems

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W. D. Ticknor, 1844 - 228 páginas
 

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Página 23 - I'm on the Sea ! I am where I would ever be ; With the blue above, and the blue below, And silence wheresoe'er I go ; If a storm should come and awake the deep, What matter ? I shall ride and sleep.
Página 23 - THE SEA. The Sea ! the Sea ! the open Sea ! The blue, the fresh, the ever free ! Without a mark, without a bound, It runneth the earth's wide regions 'round ; It plays with the clouds ; it mocks the skies ; Or like a cradled creature lies.
Página 24 - And a mother she was, and is, to me ; For I was born on the open sea ! The waves were white, and red the morn, In the noisy hour when I was born ; And the whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled...
Página 53 - And loveth the wood's deep gloom; And, with eyes like the shine of the moonstone cold, She awaiteth her ghastly groom.
Página 37 - O'er the deep ! o'er the deep ! Where the whale and the shark and the sword-fish sleep, — Outflying the blast and the driving rain, The Petrel telleth her tale — in vain : For the mariner curseth the warning bird Who bringeth him news of the storms unheard.
Página 24 - I love (oh ! how I love) to ride On the fierce foaming bursting tide, When every mad wave drowns the moon, Or whistles aloft his tempest tune, And tells how goeth the world below, And why the south-west blasts do blow.
Página 6 - Methinks I love all common things — The common air, the common flower ; The dear, kind, common thought, that springs From hearts that have no other dower...
Página 53 - Nor lonely the bird, nor his ghastly mate, They are each unto each a pride : Thrice fonder, perhaps, since a strange, dark fate Hath rent them from all beside!
Página 32 - Oh ! — what delight can a mortal lack, When he once is firm on his horse's back, With his stirrups short, and his snaffle strong, And the blast of the horn for his morning song...
Página xii - Sobbeth abroad her grief, her pain ! No one heareth her, no one heedeth her: But Hunger, her friend, with his bony hand, Grasps her throat, whispering huskily — •'What dost thou in a Christian land?

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