Poems of Early and After Years

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Carey and Hart, 1848 - 410 Seiten
 

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Seite 48 - Alas! my noble boy, that thou shouldst die! Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair! That death should settle in thy glorious eye, And leave his stillness in this clustering hair! How could he mark thee for the silent tomb. My proud boy, Absalom ! B Cold is thy brow, my son ; and I am chill.
Seite 50 - And, oh! when I am stricken, and my heart Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken, How will its love for thee, as I depart, Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token!
Seite 48 - Cold is thy brow, my son, and I am chill, As to my bosom I have tried to press thee : How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill, Like a rich harp-string, yearning to caress thee, And hear thy sweet ' My father ! ' from these dumb And cold lips, Absalom !
Seite 113 - He runs so close to the rapid wheel. Whatever is rung on that noisy bell — Chime of the hour or funeral knell — The dove in the belfry must hear it well. When the tongue swings out to the midnight moon, When the sexton cheerly rings for noon, When the clock strikes clear at morning light. When the child is waked with "nine at night...
Seite 126 - Bring me the captive now ! My hand feels skilful, and the shadows lift From my waked spirit airily and swift, And I could paint the bow Upon the bended heavens — around me play Colors of such divinity to-day. "Ha! bind him on his back! Look — as Prometheus in my picture here!
Seite 114 - I LOVE to look on a scene like this, Of wild and careless play, And persuade myself that I am not old, And my locks are not yet gray...
Seite 22 - And pass thou not between The weary traveller and the cooling breeze; And lie not down to sleep beneath the trees Where human tracks are seen. Nor milk the goat that browseth on the plain, Nor pluck the standing corn, or yellow grain.
Seite 125 - Parrhasius stood, gazing forgetfully Upon his canvas. There Prometheus lay, Chained to the cold rocks of Mount Caucasus— The vulture at his vitals, and the links Of the lame Lemnian festering in his flesh...
Seite 115 - Play on, play on ; I am with you there, In the midst of your merry ring: I can feel the thrill of the daring jump, And the rush of the breathless swing. I hide with you in the fragrant hay, And I whoop the smothered call, And my feet slip up on the seedy floor, And I care not for the fall.
Seite 224 - God ever gave to her She kept with chary care. She kept with care her beauties rare From lovers warm and true, For her heart was cold to all but gold, And the rich came not to woo : But honored well are charms to sell If priests the selling do.

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