The Poems, Sacred, Passionate, and Humorous, of Nathaniel Parker Willis

Austin & Smith, 1856 - 352 Seiten

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Seite 31 - The king stood still Till the last echo died ; then, throwing off The sackcloth from his brow, and laying back The pall from the still features of his child, He bowed his head upon him, and broke forth In the resistless eloquence of woe...
Seite 32 - 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 ! It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom, To see thee, Absalom...
Seite 30 - But, oh! for Absalom — For his estranged, misguided Absalom — The proud, bright being, who had burst away, In all his princely beauty, to defy The heart that cherished him — for him he poured, In agony that would not be controlled, Strong supplication, and forgave him there, Before his God, for his deep sinfulness.
Seite 29 - Oh! when the heart is full — when bitter thoughts Come crowding thickly up for utterance, And the poor common words of courtesy Are such a very mockery — how much The bursting heart may pour itself in prayer!
Seite 88 - I love to see him track the street, With his wary eye and active feet; And I often watch him as he springs, Circling the steeple with easy wings, Till across the dial his shade has passed, And the belfry edge is gained at last.
Seite 243 - Strange, that the audible stillness of the noon, The waters tripping with their silver feet, The turning to the...
Seite 9 - And pass not thou 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. And now depart! and when Thy heart is heavy, and...
Seite 106 - Ay, though it bid me rifle My heart's last fount for its insatiate thirst — Though every life-strung nerve be maddened first, Though it should bid me stifle The yearning in my throat for my sweet child, And taunt its mother till my brain went wild — " All— I would do it all Sooner than die like a dull worm, to rot, Thrust foully into earth to be forgot, Oh heavens ! But I appal Your heart, old man : forgive.
Seite 217 - BRIGHT be the skies that cover thee, Child of the sunny brow — Bright as the dream flung over thee By all that meets thee now. Thy heart is beating joyously, Thy voice is like a bird's, And sweetly breaks the melody Of thy imperfect words. I know no fount that gushes out As gladly as thy tiny shout. I would that thou might'st ever be As beautiful as now, — That Time might ever leave as free Thy yet unwritten brow, — I would life were
Seite 89 - 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...

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