Poetry in Song, and Some Other Studies in Literature with a Few Pieces of Verse

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F. Hudson publishing Company, 1907 - English poetry - 182 pages

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Page 79 - THE fountains mingle with the river, And the rivers with the ocean, The winds of heaven mix for ever With a sweet emotion; Nothing in the world is single ; All things by a law divine In one another's being mingle — Why not I with thine?
Page 147 - When he shall hear she died upon his words, The idea of her life shall sweetly creep Into his study of imagination...
Page 69 - Will break as a bubble o'er-blown in a dream,— Yon dome of too-tenuous tissues of space and of night, Over-weighted with stars, over-freighted with light, Over-sated with beauty and silence, will seem But a bubble that broke in a dream, If a bound of degree to this grace be laid, Or a sound or a motion made.
Page 27 - Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark; For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar.
Page 32 - Wi" thee to reign, wi' thee to reign, The brightest jewel in my crown Wad be my queen, wad be my queen.
Page 96 - Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath...
Page 78 - Oh lift me from the grass ! I die, I faint, I fail! Let thy love in kisses rain On my lips and eyelids pale. My cheek is cold and white, alas ! My heart beats loud and fast: Oh ! press it close to thine again, Where it will break at last.
Page 27 - Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea, But such a tide as moving seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home. Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark; For tho...
Page 98 - And death is a low mist which cannot blot The brightness it may veil. When lofty thought Lifts a young heart above its mortal lair, And love and life contend in it for what Shall be its earthly doom, the dead live there, And move like winds of light on dark and stormy air.
Page 87 - The cemetery is an open space among the ruins, covered in winter with violets and daisies. It might make one in love with death, to think that one should be buried in so sweet a place.

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