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Страница 109 - I can give not what men call love, But wilt thou accept not The worship the heart lifts above And the Heavens reject not, — The desire of the moth for the star, Of the night for the morrow, The devotion to something afar From the sphere of our sorrow?
Страница 277 - But let my due feet never fail To walk the studious cloister's pale, And love the high embowed roof, With antique pillars massy proof, And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religious light.
Страница 131 - Pressed closely palm to palm and to his mouth Uplifted, he, as through an instrument, Blew mimic hootings to the silent owls, That they might answer him. — And they would shout Across the watery vale, and shout again, Responsive to his call, — with quivering peals, And long halloos, and screams, and echoes loud Redoubled and redoubled; concourse wild Of jocund din!
Страница 76 - Our very hopes belied our fears, Our fears our hopes belied ; We thought her dying when she slept, And sleeping when she died. For when the morn came, dim and sad And chill with early showers, Her quiet eyelids closed,- — she had Another morn than ours.
Страница 266 - He took the suffering human race, He read each wound, each weakness clear; And struck his finger on the place, And said : Thou ailest here, and here...
Страница 101 - To suffer woes which Hope thinks infinite; To forgive wrongs darker than death or night; To defy Power, which seems omnipotent; To love, and bear; to hope till Hope creates From its own wreck the thing it contemplates...
Страница 278 - Swinging slow with sullen roar; Or if the air will not permit, Some still removed place will fit, Where glowing embers through the room Teach light to counterfeit a gloom...
Страница 269 - So, some tempestuous morn in early June, When the year's primal burst of bloom is o'er, Before the roses and the longest day — When garden-walks and all the grassy floor With blossoms red and white of fallen May And chestnut-flowers are strewn — So have I heard the cuckoo's parting cry, From the wet field, through the vext garden-trees, Come with the volleying rain and tossing breeze: The bloom is gone, and with the bloom go I!
Страница 340 - River-Lip on which we lean — Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen! XXI Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears TO-DAY of past Regret and future Fears : To-morrow! — Why, To-morrow I may be Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n thousand Years.