The Poems of Elizabeth Barrett Browning ...

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Стр. 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...
Стр. 250 - And well may the children weep before you! They are weary ere they run: They have never seen the sunshine, nor the glory Which is brighter than the sun. They know the grief of man without...
Стр. 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!
Стр. 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...
Стр. 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.
Стр. 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.
Стр. 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...
Стр. 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.
Стр. 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.
Стр. 296 - She has thrown her bonnet by, And her feet she has been dipping In the shallow water's flow : Now she holds them nakedly In her hands, all sleek and dripping, While she rocketh to and fro...

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