The Poems of Elizabeth Barrett Browning: With Memoir, Etc

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Warne, 1850 - Всего страниц: 548
 

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Стр. 547 - How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
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 ! 10 They are weeping in the playtime of the others, In the country of the...
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. 374 - He giveth His beloved, sleep. 'Sleep soft, beloved!' we sometimes say, But have no tune to charm away Sad dreams that through the eye-lids creep. But never doleful dream again Shall break the happy slumber when He giveth His beloved, sleep.
Стр. 375 - For me, my heart that erst did go Most like a tired child at a show, That sees through tears the mummers leap, Would now its wearied vision close, Would childlike on His love repose Who giveth His beloved sleep. And friends, dear friends, when it shall be That this low breath is gone from me, And round my bier ye come to weep, Let one most loving of you all, Say, " Not a tear must o'er her fall ! He giveth His beloved sleep.
Стр. 248 - ... stirred? When we sob aloud, the human creatures near us Pass by, hearing not, or answer not a word. And we hear not (for the wheels in their resounding) Strangers speaking at the door; Is it likely God, with angels singing round him, Hears our weeping any more ? "Two words, indeed, of praying we remember. And at midnight's hour of harm, 'Our Father,' looking upward in the chamber, We say softly for a charm. We know no other words except 'Our Father...
Стр. 420 - I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless; That only men incredulous of despair, Half-taught in anguish, through the mid-night air Beat upward to God's throne in loud access Of shrieking and reproach. Full desertness In souls as countries, lieth silent-bare Under the blanching, vertical eye-glare Of the absolute Heavens.
Стр. 341 - THERE is no God,' the foolish saith, — ' But none, ' There is no sorrow ; ' And nature oft, the cry of faith, In bitter need will borrow : Eyes, which the preacher could not school, By wayside graves are raised ; And lips say, ' God be pitiful,' Who ne'er said,
Стр. 248 - Ay ! be silent ! Let them hear each other breathing For a moment, mouth to mouth — Let them touch each other's hands, in a fresh wreathing Of their tender human youth ! Let them feel that this cold metallic motion Is not all the life God fashions or reveals — Let them prove their living souls against the notion That they live in you, or under you, O wheels ! — Still, all day, the iron wheels go onward...
Стр. 249 - 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 its wisdom; They sink in man's despair, without its calm; Are slaves, without the liberty in Christdom, Are martyrs, by the pang without the palm: Are worn as if with age, yet unretrievingly The harvest of its memories cannot reap, — Are orphans of the earthly love and heavenly. Let them...

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