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A. E. Housman Alfred Tennyson Anon April autumn beauty beneath birds blow breath bright Christina Rossetti clouds cold dark dead dear death delight dost doth dream earth Edward Cracroft Lefroy eternal eyes fair fear feet flowers friends glory golden green grey happy hast hath hear heart heaven hill John John Keble July June Katharine Tynan-Hinkson light live Longfellow look Lord Love's March merry morning never night o'er pain peace Percy Bysshe Shelley Philip Bourke Marston Poems Richard Robert Bridges Robert Herrick rose Rossetti sail Sept Shakespeare Shelley silence sing sleep smile snow song sorrow soul Spenser spirit spring stars sweet tears thee thine things Thomas Lovell Beddoes thought trees unto voice W. B. Yeats walk waves weary wild William William Wordsworth wind wings winter woods Wordsworth
Page 291 - He that is down needs fear no fall; He that is low, no pride. He that is humble, ever shall Have God to be his guide.
Page 213 - When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste...
Page 86 - OH yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill, To pangs of nature, sins of will, Defects of doubt, and taints of blood; That nothing walks with aimless feet; That not one life shall be destroy'd, Or cast as rubbish to the void, When God hath made the pile complete...
Page 15 - Alas! they had been friends in youth; But whispering tongues can poison truth ; And constancy lives in realms above ; And life is thorny ; and youth is vain ; And to be wroth with one we love, Doth work like madness in the brain.
Page 374 - It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make man better be; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log, at last, dry, bald, and sere: A lily of a day, Is fairer far, in May, Although it fall, and die that night; It was the plant, and flower of light. In small proportions, we just beauties see: And in short measures, life may perfect be.
Page 121 - What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain? What fields, or waves, or mountains? What shapes of sky or plain? What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain? With thy clear keen joyance Languor cannot be: Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee: Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.
Page 316 - O thou, Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low, Each like a corpse within its grave, until Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill (Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) With living hues and odours plain and hill: Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere; Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh, hear!
Page 9 - I HELD it truth, with him who sings To one clear harp in divers tones, That men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things.