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Page 206 - And when the sun begins to fling His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring To arched walks of twilight groves. And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves, Of pine, or monumental oak...
Page 66 - HENCE, loathed Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born In Stygian cave forlorn, 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy ! Find out some uncouth cell Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings And the night-raven sings ; There under ebon shades, and low-browed rocks As ragged as thy locks, In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.
Page 83 - FAIR Daffodils, we weep to see You haste away so soon : As yet the early-rising Sun Has not attained his noon. Stay, stay, Until the hasting day Has run But to the even-song ; And, having prayed together, we Will go with you along.
Page 211 - How beautiful is the rain ! After the dust and heat, In the broad and fiery street, In the narrow lane, How beautiful is the rain ! How it clatters along the roofs, Like the tramp of hoofs ! How it gushes and struggles out From the throat of the overflowing spout ! Across the window-pane It pours and pours ; And swift and wide, With a muddy tide, Like a river down the gutter roars The rain, the welcome rain...
Page 225 - Eve, Young virgins might have visions of delight, And soft adorings from their loves receive Upon the honeyed middle of the night If ceremonies due they did aright; As, supperless to bed they must retire, And couch supine their beauties, lily white; Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require Of Heaven with upward eyes for all that they desire.
Page 88 - They slept on the abyss without a surge — The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave, The moon their mistress had expired before ; The winds were withered in the stagnant air, And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need Of aid from them— She was the universe.
Page 142 - Some say that gleams of a remoter world Visit the soul in sleep, — that death is slumber. And that its shapes the busy thoughts outnumber Of those who wake and live. I look on high ; Has some unknown omnipotence unfurled The veil of life and death...
Page 62 - It ceased ; yet still the sails made on A pleasant noise till noon, — A noise like of a hidden brook In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune.