Poems, Volume 1

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Página 62 - Consider the lilies of the field; they toil not, neither do they spin: yet Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.
Página 42 - THE blessed damozel leaned out From the gold bar of Heaven ; Her eyes were deeper than the depth Of waters stilled at even ; She had three lilies in her hand, And the stars in her hair were seven.
Página 42 - And the souls mounting up to God Went by her like thin flames. And still she bowed herself and stooped Out of the circling charm; Until her bosom must have made The bar she leaned on warm, And the lilies lay as if asleep Along her bended arm. From the fixed place of Heaven she saw Time like a pulse shake fierce Through all the worlds.
Página 246 - He is dead and gone, lady, He is dead and gone, At his head a grass-green turf, At his heels a stone.
Página 39 - Herself shall bring us, hand in hand, To Him round whom all souls Kneel, the clear-ranged unnumbered heads Bowed with their aureoles; And angels meeting us shall sing To their citherns and citoles.
Página 206 - Oh the waxen knave was plump to-day, Sister Helen; How like dead folk he has dropped away!" "Nay now, of the dead what can you say, Little brother?
Página 123 - CONSIDER the sea's listless chime: Time's self it is, made audible, — The murmur of the earth's own shell. Secret continuance sublime Is the sea's end : our sight may pass No furlong further. Since time was, This sound hath told the lapse of time.
Página 42 - It lies in heaven, across the flood Of ether, as a bridge. Beneath, the tides of day and night With flame and darkness ridge The void, as low as where this earth Spins like a fretful midge.
Página 43 - Are not two prayers a perfect strength? And shall I feel afraid? ' When round his head the aureole clings, And he is clothed in white, I'll take his hand and go with him To the deep wells of light; As unto a stream we will step down, And bathe there in God's sight.
Página 181 - The smile rose first, — anon drew nigh The thought : . . Those heavy wings spread high, So sure of flight, which do not fly ; That set gaze never on the sky ; Those scriptured flanks it cannot see; Its crown, a brow-contracting load ; Its planted feet which trust the sod : . . . (So grew the image as I trod :) O Nineveh, was this thy God, — Thine also, mighty Nineveh ? THE CHURCH-PORCH. SISTER, first shake we off the dust we have Upon our feet, lest it defile the stones Inscriptured, covering...

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