Lyrics and Sonnets

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Houghton, Mifflin, 1887 - 126 páginas

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Página 77 - What shall I say? he hath both spoken unto me, and himself hath done it: I shall go softly all my years in the bitterness of my soul.
Página 15 - And bid the soft winds blow (And that thou canst, I trow); If thou canst call the thrushes back To give the groves the songs they lack, And wake the violet in thy track, Say why thou dost not so — Aye, aye! Say why Thou dost not so! If thou canst make my winter spring, With one word breathed low (And that thou canst, I know); If in the closure of a ring Thou canst to me such treasure bring, My state shall be above a king, Say why thou dost not so — . Aye, aye! Say why Thou dost not so!
Página 21 - ... the flower by the wood-path, — thou bendest to look in my eyes ; The bird in its nest in the thicket, — thou heedest my love-laden cries ; The planet that leads the night legions, — thou liftest thy gaze to the skies. And I am the soft-dropping rain, the snow with its fluttering swarms; The summer-day cloud on the hilltops, that showeth thee manifold forms; The wind from the south and the west, the voice that sings courage in storms ! Sweet was the earth to thee ever, but sweeter by far...
Página 78 - I mingle with their throng at will; They know me not an alien still, Since neither words nor ways unsweet Of stored bitterness I spill; Youth shuns me not, nor gladness fears, For I go softly all my years. Whenso I come where Griefs convene, And in my ear their voice is keen, They know me not, as on I glide, That with Arch Sorrow I abide. They haggard are, and drooped of mien, And...
Página 20 - I am the flower by the wood-path, — thou bendest to look in my eyes ; The bird in its nest in the thicket, — thou heedest my love-laden cries ; The planet that leads the night legions, — thou liftest thy gaze to the skies. And I am the soft-dropping rain, the snow with its fluttering swarms ; The summer-day cloud on the hilltops, that showeth thee manifold forms ; The wind from the south and the west, the voice that sings courage in storms ! Sweet was the earth to thee ever, but sweeter by...
Página 77 - ... WHEN on my soul in nakedness His swift, avertless hand did press, Then I stood still, nor cried aloud, Nor murmured low in ashes bowed ; And, since my woe is utterless, To supreme quiet I am vowed ; Afar from me be moan and tears, — I shall go softly all my years. Whenso my quick...
Página 66 - IN the month of June, when the world is green, When the dew beads thick on the clover spray, And the noons are rife with the scent of hay, And the brook hides under a willow screen ; When the rose is queen, in Love's demesne, Then, the time is too sweet and too light to stay : Whatever the sun and the dial say, This...
Página 42 - Where the fruited brier-rose Fragrance on thy pathway throws, And the firefly bears a link ; Where swart bramble-berries drink Spicy dew, and shall be sweet, Ripened by to-morrow's heat; Still, wherever thou dost pass, Chimes the cricket in the grass ; And the plover's note is heard,— Moonlight's wild enchanted bird, Flitting, wakeful and forlorn, Round the meadows lately shorn. Wilt thou come, and healed be Of the wounds Day gave to thee, Come and dwell, an acolyte Of the deep-browed holy Night?...
Página 113 - The god of music dwelleth out of doors, All seasons through his minstrelsy we meet, Breathing by field and covert haunting-sweet : From organ-lofts in forests old he pours A solemn harmony; on leafy floors To smooth autumnal pipes he moves his feet, Or with the tingling plectrum of the sleet In winter keen beats out his thrilling scores. Leave me the reed unplucked beside the stream, And he will stoop and fill it with the...
Página 134 - For now desire of migrant change holds sway; This summer-vacant land it longs to leave, While its free peers on tireless pinions cleave The haunted twilight, speeding south their way. Not otherwise than as the prisoned bird, We here dwell careless of our captive state Until light dwindles, and the year grows late, And answering note to note no more is heard ; Then, our loved fellows flown, the soul is stirred To follow them where summer has no date.

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