An Anthology of Mother VerseHoughton Mifflin, 1917 - 194 страница |
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Страница 5
... tell If ' t was a madman's voice Or if the spirit of a bird Within his heart did dwell : you heard , A bird that dallies with his voice Among the matted branches ; Or on the free blue air his note To pierce , and fall , and rise , and ...
... tell If ' t was a madman's voice Or if the spirit of a bird Within his heart did dwell : you heard , A bird that dallies with his voice Among the matted branches ; Or on the free blue air his note To pierce , and fall , and rise , and ...
Страница 19
... begone ? Will Will you forever pass , After so many years and dear to tell ? Brook of all hoverings Brook that I kneel above ; Brook of my love . Ah , but I have a charm to trouble you 19 The Young Mother Alison's Mother to the Brook.
... begone ? Will Will you forever pass , After so many years and dear to tell ? Brook of all hoverings Brook that I kneel above ; Brook of my love . Ah , but I have a charm to trouble you 19 The Young Mother Alison's Mother to the Brook.
Страница 36
... from Gaeta : Shot . Tell his mother . Ah , ah , " his , " " their " mother , not " mine , " - No voice says " My mother " again to me . What ! You think Guido forgot ? Are souls straight so happy that , dizzy with Heaven 36 To Mother.
... from Gaeta : Shot . Tell his mother . Ah , ah , " his , " " their " mother , not " mine , " - No voice says " My mother " again to me . What ! You think Guido forgot ? Are souls straight so happy that , dizzy with Heaven 36 To Mother.
Страница 41
... How's my boy -my boy ? What care I for the men , sailor ? I'm not their mother . How's my boy - my boy ? Tell me of him and no other ! How's my boy my boy ? " Sidney Dobell THE SAD MOTHER O WHEN the half - light weaves 41 Mothers of Men.
... How's my boy -my boy ? What care I for the men , sailor ? I'm not their mother . How's my boy - my boy ? Tell me of him and no other ! How's my boy my boy ? " Sidney Dobell THE SAD MOTHER O WHEN the half - light weaves 41 Mothers of Men.
Страница 59
... Tell us , you who hide your heartbreak , which is sadder , when all ' s done , To repine an English mother , or to roam , an English son ? You who shared your babe's first sorrow when his cheek no longer pressed On the perfect , snow ...
... Tell us , you who hide your heartbreak , which is sadder , when all ' s done , To repine an English mother , or to roam , an English son ? You who shared your babe's first sorrow when his cheek no longer pressed On the perfect , snow ...
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ain wife angel arms Auld Daddy Darkness babe Baby-Land bairnies beautiful bird Blynken breast breath bright brow cheek Christina G cradle cuddle doon darling dream earth Eugene Field eyes face fair Father fear feet fold gaze gentle gi'e my ain grief hair hands hath head hear heart heaven holy hush Jane Taylor John Banister Tabb Josiah Gilbert Holland kiss knee lambs LENOX TILDEN light lips Little baby dear Lord lullaby mamma melodious hills morning nest never night o'er old arm-chair ony wife pray prayer pretty purple clover rest Robert Underwood Johnson Roden Noel round Rudyard Kipling shines sing skies sleep smile soft song sorrow star sweet tears thee There's thine things thou art thy mother voice wadna gi'e weep wife For ony William Allingham William Wordsworth wings woman Wynken YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY
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Страница 43 - With me but roughly since I heard thee last. Those lips are thine — thy own sweet smile I see, The same that oft in childhood solaced me; Voice only fails, else how distinct they say, ' Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away!
Страница 68 - But peaceful was the night, Wherein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began...
Страница 119 - And, sitting down before the heat of day, She took me on her lap and kissed me, And. pointing to the east, began to say: "Look on the rising sun: there God does live, And gives his light, and gives his heat away; And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday. "And we are put on earth a little space, That we may learn to bear the beams of love; And these black bodies and this sunburnt face Are but a cloud and like a shady grove.
Страница 68 - But He, her fears to cease, Sent down the meek-eyed Peace : She, crown'd with olive green, came softly sliding Down through the turning sphere, His ready harbinger, With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing ; And waving wide her myrtle wand, She strikes a universal peace through sea and land.
Страница 44 - I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day, I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away, And, turning from my nursery window, drew A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu ! But was it such ? It was.
Страница 46 - Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile, There sits quiescent on the floods that show Her beauteous form reflected clear below, While airs impregnated with incense play Around her, fanning light her streamers gay ; So thou, with sails how swift ! hast reached the shore, " Where tempests never beat nor billows roar,"* And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide Of life long since has anchored by thy side.
Страница 167 - SHE was a phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight ; A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament...
Страница 46 - When, playing with thy vesture's tissued flowers, 75 The violet, the pink, and jessamine, I pricked them into paper with a pin, (And thou wast happier than myself the while, Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head and smile), Could those few pleasant days again appear, Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here I would not trust my heart — the dear delight Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might.
Страница 72 - The oracles are dumb ; No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving.
Страница 43 - Faithful remembrancer of one so dear, 0 welcome guest, though unexpected here! Who bidst me honour with an artless song, Affectionate, a mother lost so long. 1 will obey, not willingly alone, But gladly as the precept were her own: And, while that face renews my filial grief, Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief, Shall steep me in Elysian reverie, A momentary dream, that thou art she.