Poems, Том 2J. Miller, 1862 |
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angels beauty beneath beside bird bless bower breath brow burn Casa Guidi cheek child chrism Cimabue cloud crown curse dark days go dear death doth dream drop earth evermore eyes face fair Faunus feet Florence flowers Giotto glory God's grave green grief hand hast head hear heart heaven hills holy images Men Italy kerchief King kiss knee laugh leave life's lift light lips live look love thee Melodious angels mother Naiads Nature's Neath never nosegays o'er pale Pan is dead Phrygian caps poet poles of freedom praise pray purple rose Rose-trees round sate sigh sight silence sing sleep smile song soul sound spirit stand stars strong sweet sword tears thine things thou art thought trained to rob trees turned Tuscan twixt VIII voice weary ween weep wind word
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Стр. 20 - They look up with their pale and sunken faces, And their look is dread to see, For they mind you of their angels in high places, With eyes turned on Deity. ' 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 gold-heaper, And your purple shows your path ! But the child's sob in the silence curses deeper Than the strong...
Стр. 290 - 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. I love thee to the level of every day's Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints.
Стр. 247 - IF thou must love me, let it be for nought Except for love's sake only. Do not say ' I love her for her smile . . her look . . her way Of speaking gently, . . for a trick of thought That falls in well with mine, and certes brought A sense of pleasant ease on such a day...
Стр. 16 - is very dreary," "Our young feet," they say, "are very weak; Few paces have we taken, yet are weary — Our grave-rest is very far to seek: Ask the aged why they weep, and not the children, For the outside earth is cold, And we young ones stand without, in our bewildering, And the graves are for the old.
Стр. 191 - Knelt beside you on the sod, For your beauty thanking God, — For your teaching, ye should see us Bowing in prostration new ! Whence arisen,— if one or two Drops be on our cheeks — O world , they are not tears but dew. THE LADY'S YES. ' YES,' I answered you last night ; ' No/ this morning, sir, I say : Colours seen by candle-light Will not look the same by day.
Стр. 114 - I TELL you, hopeless grief is passionless ; That only men incredulous of despair, Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight 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. 174 - Sleep soft, beloved !" we sometimes say, But have no tune to charm away Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep. But never doleful dream again. Shall break the happy slumber when He giveth His beloved, sleep.
Стр. 288 - Oh, list,' When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst I could not wear here, plainer to my sight, Than that first kiss. The second passed in height The first, and sought the forehead, and half missed, Half falling on the hair. O beyond meed!
Стр. 116 - Take patience, labour, to their heart and hand, From thy hand, and thy heart, and thy brave cheer, And God's grace fructify through thee to all. The least flower, with a brimming cup, may stand, And share its dew-drop with another near.
Стр. 124 - TRUE genius, but true woman ! dost deny Thy woman's nature with a manly scorn, And break away the gauds and armlets worn By weaker women in captivity ? Ah, vain denial ! that revolted cry Is sobbed in by a woman's voice forlorn ! — Thy woman's hair, my sister, all unshorn, Floats back dishevelled strength in agony, Disproving thy man's name ! and while before The world thou burnest in a poet-fire, We see thy woman-heart beat evermore Through the large flame.