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Alas arms beauty began birds blue breath bright cheek close cloud cold comes course dance dark dead deaf dear death deep door double dream earth eyes face fair fairy fall fancy fear feel flowers give gold golden gone green grief hair hand happy hath head hear heard heart heaven hope human keep kind land leaves light living look Meanwhile mind Miss moon morning mother Nature never night once Peace play poor rich rose round seemed sense sigh sing sleep song soon soul sound spirit stand sure sweet tears tender thee There's thing thou thought Till took tree true turned Twas voice walk wave wind wings wish young
Página 170 - ... the night, Her breathing soft and low, As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro. " ' So silently we seemed to speak, So slowly moved about, As we had lent her half our powers To eke her living out. " ' Our very hopes belied our fears ; Our fears our hopes belied ; We thought her dying when she slept, And sleeping when she died. " ' For when the morn came dim and sad, And chill with early showers, Her quiet eyelids closed ; — she had Another morn than ours.
Página 150 - I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER, I remember The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn ; He never came a wink too soon, Nor brought too long a day, But now I often wish the night Had borne my breath away...
Página 150 - I remember, I remember Where I was used to swing, And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing ; My spirit flew in feathers then That is so heavy now, And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow. I remember, I remember The fir-trees dark and high ; I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky : It was a childish ignorance, But now 'tis little joy To know I'm farther off from Heaven Than when I was a boy.
Página 125 - With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread, — Stitch! stitch! stitch! In poverty, hunger, and dirt, And still, with a voice of dolorous pitch, She sang the "Song of the Shirt.
Página 119 - Look at her garments Clinging like cerements; Whilst the wave constantly Drips from her clothing; Take her up instantly, Loving, not loathing,— Touch her not scornfully; Think of her mournfully, Gently and humanly; ' Not of the stains of her— All that remains of her Now, is pure womanly.
Página 120 - Death has left on her Only the beautiful. Still, for all slips of hers, One of Eve's family, Wipe those poor lips of hers, Oozing so clammily. Loop up her tresses Escaped from the comb — Her fair auburn tresses ; Whilst wonderment guesses, Where was her home ? Who was her father? Who was her mother ? Had she a sister? Had she a brother ? Or was there a dearer one Still, and a nearer one Yet, than all other?
Página 148 - Deeply ripened ;— such a blush In the midst of brown was born, Like red poppies grown with corn. Round her eyes her tresses fell, Which were blackest none could tell, But long lashes veiled a light, That had else been all too bright.
Página 122 - Out of the world ! In she plunged boldly, No matter how coldly The rough river ran, — Over the brink of it : Picture it,- — think of it, Dissolute man ! Lave in it, drink of it, Then, if you can ! Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care ; Fashion'd so slenderly, Young, and so fair ! Ere her limbs frigidly Stiffen too rigidly Decently, — kindly, — Smooth and compose them...
Página 99 - Pleasantly shone the setting sun Over the town of Lynn. Like sportive deer they coursed about, And shouted as they ran, — Turning to mirth all things of earth, As only boyhood can, But the usher sat remote from all, A melancholy man ! His hat was off, his vest apart, To catch Heaven's blessed breeze ; For a burning thought was in his brow, And his bosom ill at ease ; So he leaned his head on his hands, and read The book between his knees.
Página 136 - And banners waved before; And gentle youth and maidens gay, And snowy plumes they wore; It would have been a beauteous dream — If it had been no more! "Alas, alas, fair Ines! She went away with song, With Music waiting on her steps, And shoutings of the throng; But some were sad and felt no mirth, But only Music's wrong, In sounds that sang Farewell, Farewell, To her you've loved so long.