The Poems

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Ticknor and Fields, 1866 - 419 oldal
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83. oldal - The wind in the reeds and the rushes, The bees on the bells of thyme, The birds on the myrtle bushes, The cicale above in the lime, And the lizards below in the grass, Were as silent as ever old Tmolus was Listening to my sweet pipings.
245. oldal - Voice after voice caught up the song, Until its tender passion Rose like an anthem rich and strong, — Their battle-eve confession. Dear girl, her name he dared not speak, But, as the song grew louder, Something upon the soldier's cheek Washed off the stains of powder. Beyond the darkening ocean burned The bloody sunset's embers, While the Crimean valleys learned How English love remembers. And...
134. oldal - From the Desert I come to thee On a stallion shod with fire; And the winds are left behind In the speed of my desire. Under thy window I stand, And the midnight hears my cry: I love thee, I love but thee, With a love that shall not die Till the sun grows cold, And the stars are old, And the leaves of the Judgment Book unfold!
407. oldal - General," still persisting, the weeping veteran cried, "I'm young enough to follow, so long as you're my guide; And some, you know, must bite the dust, and that, at least, can I, So give the young ones place to fight, but me a place to die!
196. oldal - All outward wisdom yields to that within, Whereof nor creed nor canon holds the key ; We only feel that we have ever been, And evermore shall be. And thus I know, by memories unfurled In rarer moods, and many a nameless sign, That once in Time, and somewhere in the world, I was a towering Pine...
406. oldal - An old and crippled veteran to the War Department came; He sought the Chief who led him on many a field of fame; The Chief who shouted "Forward!" where'er his banner rose, And bore its stars in triumph behind the flying foes. "Have you forgotten, General," the battered soldier cried, "The days of Eighteen Hundred Twelve, when I was at your side?
276. oldal - But the Wind is sad and restless, And cursed with an inward pain ; You may hark as you will, by valley or hill, But you hear him still complain. He wails on the barren mountains, And shrieks on the wintry sea; He sobs in the cedar, and moans in the ' pine. And shudders all over the aspen tree.
266. oldal - But Ruth is still a Friend at heart; she keeps the simple tongue, The cheerful, kindly nature we loved when she was young; And it was brought upon my mind, remembering her, of late, That we on dress and outward things perhaps lay too much weight. I once heard Jesse Kersey say, a spirit clothed with grace, And pure, almost, as angels are, may have a homely face.
319. oldal - The pescador, out in his shallop, Gathering his harvest so wide, Sees the dim bulk of the headland Loom over the waste of the tide ; He sees, like a white thread, the pathway Wind round on the terrible wall, Where the faint, moving speck of the rider Seems hovering close to its fall.
262. oldal - First-day afternoons in spring, and watch the swallows flit : He loved to smell the sprouting box, and hear the pleasant bees Go humming round the lilacs and through the apple-trees.

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