Ballads and sonnets

Capa
Little, Brown, 1887
 

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Página 255 - But no word comes from the dead ; Whether at all they be, Or whether as bond or free, Or whether they too were we, Or by what spell they have sped. Still we say as we go, — ' Strange to think by the way, Whatever there is to know, That shall we know one day.
Página 122 - WHEN do I see thee most, beloved one? When in the light the spirits of mine eyes Before thy face, their altar, solemnize The worship of that Love through thee made known? Or when in the dusk hours, (we two alone,) Close-kissed and eloquent of still replies Thy twilight-hidden glimmering visage lies, And my soul only sees thy soul its own?
Página 152 - NOT I myself know all my love for thee: How should I reach so far, who cannot weigh To-morrow's dower by gage of yesterday? Shall birth and death, and all dark names that be As doors and windows bared to some loud sea, Lash deaf mine ears and blind my face with spray; And shall my sense pierce love, — the last relay And ultimate outpost of eternity?
Página 123 - Shall I the difficult deeps of Love explore, Till parted waves of Song yield up the shore Even as that sea which Israel crossed dryshod ? For lo ! in some poor rhythmic period, Lady, I fain would tell how evermore Thy soul I know not from thy body, nor Thee from myself, neither our love from God.
Página 61 - By none but me can the tale be told, The butcher of Rouen, poor Berold. (Lands are swayed by a King on a throne.) 'Twas a royal train put forth to sea, Yet the tale can be told by none but me. (The sea hath no King but God alone.) And now the end came o'er the waters' womb Like the last great Day that's yet to come.
Página 137 - YOUR hands lie open in the long fresh grass, — The finger-points look through like rosy blooms: Your eyes smile peace. The pasture gleams and glooms 'Neath billowing skies that scatter and amass.
Página 191 - How should this be ? Art thou then so much more Than they who sowed, that thou shouldst reap thereby ? Nay, come up hither. From this wave-washed mound Unto the furthest flood-brim look with me ; Then reach on with thy thought till it be drown'd. Miles and miles distant though the last line be, And though thy soul sail leagues and leagues beyond, — Still, leagues beyond those leagues, there is more sea.
Página 215 - A Superscription Look in my face ; my name is Might-have-been ; I am also called No-more, Too-late, Farewell ; Unto thine ear I hold the dead-sea shell Cast up thy Life's foam-fretted feet between ; Unto thine eyes the glass where that is seen...
Página 139 - Her tremulous smiles ; her glances' sweet recall Of love ; her murmuring sighs memorial ; Her mouth's culled sweetness by thy kisses shed On cheeks and neck and eyelids, and so led Back to her mouth which answers there for all : — What sweeter than these things, except the thing In lacking which all these would lose their sweet :~The confident heart's still fervor : the swift beat And soft subsidence of the spirit's wing, Then when it feels, in cloud-girt wayfaring, The breath of kindred plumes...
Página 110 - twas a sweet sad thing to see How the curling golden hair, As in the day of the poet's youth, From the King's crown clustered there. And if all had come to pass in the...

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