The Fairy Changeling: And Other Poems (Google eBook)

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John Lane, The Bodley Head, 1898 - 100 pages
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Page 110 - ST. CYRES (LORD). THE LITTLE FLOWERS OF ST. FRANCIS : A new rendering into English of the Fioretti di San Francesco. Crown 8vo.
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Page 65 - OTO be a woman ! to be left to pique and pine, When the winds are out and calling to this vagrant heart of mine. Whisht! it whistles at the windows, and how can I be still ? There! the last leaves of the beech-tree go dancing down the hill. All the boats at anchor they are plunging to be free O to be a sailor, and away across the sea ! When the sky is black with thunder, and the sea is white with foam, The gray-gulls whirl up shrieking and seek their rocky home, Low his boat is lying leeward,...
Page 8 - God rest you, brother," the good priest said, " No years have passed but a single night." He showed the body uncoffined, And the six wax candles still alight. The living flowers on the dead man's breast Blew out a perfume sweet and strong. The spirit paused ere he passed to rest " God save your soul from a night so long.
Page 19 - CEAN duv deelish, beside the sea I stand and stretch my hands to thee Across the world. The riderless horses race to shore With thundering hoofs and shuddering, hoar, Blown manes uncurled. Cean duv deelish, I cry to thee Beyond the world, beneath the sea, Thou being dead. Where hast thou hidden from the beat Of crushing hoofs and tearing feet Thy dear black head...
Page 31 - You used to love me, love me once again ! ' They spoke from out the shadows wondering; 'You'd think of tears, so bitter falls the rain.' Long over Leinster lingered we. ' Good-bye ! My best beloved, good-bye for evermore.' Sleepless they tossed and whispered to the dawn; 'So sad a wind was never heard before.
Page 1 - A bar of metal I heated red To frighten the fairy from its bed, To put in the place of this fretting wean My own bright, beautiful boy again. " But my wife had hidden it in her arms, And cried ' For shame ! ' on my fairy charms ; She sobs, with the strange child on her breast : I love the weak, wee babe the best...
Page 57 - Wisht, it is the storm, O one childeen of my heart!' My hair with the wind, and my two hands clasped in anguish; Black head of my darling ! too long are we apart. Were your grave at my feet, I would think it half a blessing; 1 could herd then the cattle, and drive the goats away; Many a Paternoster I would say for your safe keeping; I could sleep above your heart until the dawn of day. I see you on the prairie, hot with thirst and faint with hunger, The head that I love lying low upon the sand. The...
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