Poems

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Edward Moxon, 1856 - 379 páginas
 

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Página 278 - along the world-wide whisper of the south-wind rushing warm, With the standards of the peoples plunging thro' the thunder-storm ; Till the war-drum throbb'd no longer, and the battleflags were furl'd There the common sense of most shall hold a fretful realm in awe, And the kindly earth shall slumber, lapt in universal law. '3° So I
Página 267 - We are not now that strength which in old days Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are; One equal temper of heroic hearts, Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. -TO
Página 266 - Gleams that untravell'd world, whose margin fades For ever and for ever when I move. How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use ! As tho' to breathe were life. Life piled on life
Página 332 - A light upon the shining sea— The Bridegroom with his bride ! SIR GALAHAD. MY good blade carves the casques of men, My tough lance thrusteth sure, My strength is as the strength of ten, Because my heart is pure. The shattering trumpet shrilleth high,
Página 200 - like a fountain for me night and day. For what are men better than sheep or goats That nourish a blind life within the brain, If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer Both for themselves and those who call them friend
Página 200 - so the whole round earth is every way Bound by gold chains about the feet of God. But now farewell. I am going a long way With these thou seest—if indeed I go— (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt)
Página 308 - crazy sorrow saith, No life that breathes with human breath Has ever truly long'd for death. " 'Tis life, whereof our nerves are scant, Oh life, not death, for which we pant; More life, and fuller, that I want." I ceased, and sat as one forlorn. Then said the voice, in quiet scorn,
Página 282 - methinks would be enjoyment more than in this march of mind, In the steamship, in the railway, in the thoughts that shake mankind. There the passions cramp'd no longer shall have scope and breathing-space; I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my , dusky race. Iron-jointed, supple-sinew'd, they shall dive, and they shall run,
Página 380 - for the touch of a vanish.' d hand, And the sound of a voice that is still ! Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, 0 Sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead THE POET'S SONG. THE rain had fallen, the Poet arose, He pass'd by the town and out of the street, A light
Página 200 - have lived my life, and that which I have done May He within himself make pure ! but thou, If thou shouldst never see my face again, Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice

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