Poems

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1842
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Página 163 - xI. So you must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear, To-morrow 'ill be the happiest time of all the glad New-year : To-morrow 'ill be of all the year the maddest merriest day, For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o
Página 106 - Yet I doubt not thro' the ages one increasing purpose runs, And the thoughts of men are widen'd with the process of the suns. What is that to him that reaps not harvest of his youthful joys, Tho' the deep heart of existence beat for ever like a boy's
Página 75 - 1832.) THE LADY OF SHALOTT. PART I. ON either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye, That clothe the wold and meet the sky ; And thro' the field the road runs by To many-tower'd Camelot; And up and down the people go, Gazing where the lilies blow Bound an island there below, The island of Shalott.
Página 185 - Dan Chaucer, the first warbler, whose sweet breath Preluded those melodious bursts, that fill The spacious times of great Elizabeth With sounds that echo still. m. And, for a while, the knowledge of his art Held me above the subject, as strong gales IT. Charged both mine eyes with tears. In every land I saw, wherever light illumineth,
Página 186 - IT. Charged both mine eyes with tears. In every land I saw, wherever light illumineth, Beauty and anguish walking hand in hand The downward slope to death. T. Those far-renowned brides of ancient song Peopled the hollow dark, like burning stars, And I heard sounds of insult, shame, and wrong, And trumpets blown for wars
Página 110 - spin for ever down the ringing grooves of change. Thro' the shadow of the world we sweep into the younger day: Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay. Mother-Age (for mine I knew not) help me as when life begun
Página 183 - peak : The Lotos blows by every winding creek : All day the wind breathes low with mellower, tone : Thro' every hollow cave and alley lone Round and round the spicy downs the yellow Lotos-dust is blown. We have had enough of action, and of motion we,
Página 136 - he that shuts Love out, in turn shall be Shut out from Love, and on her threshold lie Howling in outer darkness. Not for this Was common clay ta'en from the common earth, Moulded by God, and temper'd with the tears Of angels to the perfect shape of man. THE PALACE OF ART. I
Página 200 - Moreover it is written that my race Hew'd Ammon, hip and thigh, from Aroer On Arnon unto Minneth." Here her face Glow'd, as I look'd at her. She lock'd her lips : she left me where I stood : " Glory to God," she sang, and past afar, Thridding the sombre boskage of the wood, Toward the morning-star.

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