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Adam Adam and Eve adown angel beauty beneath blessed bower brave breath bride brow brown rosarie calm child cloud crown curse dark dead death DRAMA OF EXILE dream dreamlight drop dropt Earth Spirits evermore eyes face fair feet final doom flowers Gabriel gaze glory God's grave grief hand hast hear heard heart Heaven heavenly holy kiss lady lady Eve light lips little birds sang live look Lucifer Mary Howitt mother night noble o'er Onora in sleep pale passion phantasm pitiful poem poet Poet voices pray ride rose Rose-trees round scorn semichorus shadow shine silence singing smile social fictions softly song soul spake speak stars steed stood sweet sword tears thee thine things thought thrones thrushes Toll slowly tread trees tremble twixt unto vision voices passing wail ween weeping wild wind wings word young zodiac
Страница 245 - Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers, Ere the sorrow comes with years ? They are leaning their young heads against their mothers, — And that cannot stop their tears. The young lambs are bleating in the meadows : The young birds are chirping in the nest ; The young fawns are playing with the shadows ; The young flowers are blowing toward the west — But the young, young children, O my brothers, They are weeping bitterly ! — They are weeping in the playtime of the others, In the country...
Страница 247 - With a cerement from the grave. Go out, children, from the mine and from the city, Sing out, children, as the little thrushes do: Pluck your handfuls of the meadow-cowslips pretty, Laugh aloud, to feel your fingers let them through!
Страница 249 - O my brothers, To look up to Him and pray ; So the blessed One, who blesseth all the others, Will bless them another day. They answer, " Who is God that He should hear us, While the rushing of the iron wheels is stirred...
Страница 250 - How long," they say, " how long, O cruel nation, Will you stand, to move the world on a child's heart, — Stifle down with a mailed heel its palpitation, And tread onward to your throne amid the mart ? Our blood splashes upward, O goldheaper, And your purple shows your path ! But the child's sob in the silence curses deeper Than the strong man in his wrath.
Страница 198 - LIFE treads on life, and heart on heart ; We press too close in church and mart To keep a dream or grave apart : And I was 'ware of walking down That same green forest where had gone The poet-pilgrim.
Страница 246 - They look up with their pale and sunken faces, And their looks are sad to see, For the man's hoary anguish draws and presses Down the cheeks of infancy; "Your old earth...
Страница 85 - But, go to ! thy love Shall chant itself its own beatitudes, After its own life-working. A child's kiss Set on thy sighing lips, shall make thee glad : A poor man served by thee, shall make thee rich ; A sick man, helped by thee, shall make thee strong ; Thou shalt be served thyself by every sense Of service which thou renderest.
Страница 239 - I have lost — oh, many a pleasure, Many a hope, and many a power — Studious health, and merry leisure, The first dew on the first flower ! But the first of all my losses was the losing of the bower.