Sunlight and shade, being poems and pictures of life and nature

Capa
Cassell & Company, Limited, 1883 - 192 páginas
 

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Página 150 - Sometimes, whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep, Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers...
Página 166 - SPAKE full well, in language quaint and olden, One who dwelleth. by the castled Rhine, When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine. Stars they are, wherein we read our history, As astrologers and seers of eld ; Yet not wrapped about with awful mystery, Like the burning stars, which they beheld.
Página 89 - Piper, pipe that song again"; So I piped: he wept to hear. "Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe; Sing thy songs of happy cheer!" So I sang the same again, While he wept with joy to hear. "Piper, sit thee down and write In a book that all may read.
Página 89 - Piping down the valleys wild, Piping songs of pleasant glee, On a cloud I saw a child, And he laughing said to me : — ' Pipe a song about a lamb : ' So I piped with merry cheer. ' Piper, pipe that song again : ' So I piped ; he wept to hear.
Página 167 - Everywhere about us are they glowing, Some like stars, to tell us spring is born ; Others, their blue eyes with tears o'erflowing, Stand like Ruth amid the golden corn...
Página 166 - And the Poet, faithful and far-seeing, Sees, alike in stars and flowers, a part Of the self-same universal being Which is throbbing in his brain and heart. Gorgeous flowerets in the sunlight shining, Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day, Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining, Buds that open only to decay...
Página 175 - MY JO. JOHN Anderson my jo, John, When we were first acquent ; Your locks were like the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent ; But now your brow is beld, John Your locks are like the snaw ; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson my jo. John Anderson my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither ; And mony a canty day, John, We've had wi...
Página 90 - The point of one white star is quivering still Deep in the orange light of widening morn Beyond the purple mountains : through a chasm Of wind-divided mist the darker lake Reflects it. Now it wanes : it gleams again As the waves fade, and as the burning threads Of woven cloud unravel in pale air. 'Tis lost ! and through yon peaks of cloud-like snow The roseate sunlight quivers.
Página 150 - ... oft amid thy store? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor...
Página 91 - THERE is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass, Or night-dews on still waters between walls Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass; Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tir'd eyelids upon tir'd eyes; Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies. Here are cool mosses deep, And thro...

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