A Book of Verses

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Scribner & Welford, 1891 - English literature - 175 pages
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Page 56 - Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul.
Page 99 - LATE lark twitters from the quiet skies And from the west, Where the sun, his day's work ended, Lingers as in content, There falls on the old, gray city An influence luminous and serene, A shining peace. The smoke ascends In a rosy-and-golden haze. The spires Shine, and are changed. In the valley Shadows rise. The lark sings on. The sun, Closing...
Page 74 - The nightingale has a lyre of gold, The lark's is a clarion call, And the blackbird plays but a boxwood flute, But I love him best of all. For his song is all of the joy of life, And we in the mad, spring weather, We two have listened till he sang Our hearts and lips together.
Page 154 - A summer night descending cool and green And dark on daytime's dust and stress and heat, The ways of Death are soothing and serene, And all the words of Death are grave and sweet...
Page 138 - WHERE are the passions they essayed, And where the tears they made to flow ? Where the wild humours they portrayed For laughing worlds to see and know ? Othello's wrath and Juliet's woe ? Sir Peter's whims and Timon's gall ? And Millamant and Romeo ? Into the night go one and all.
Page 152 - We'll to the woods and gather may Fresh from the footprints of the rain; We'll to the woods, at every vein To drink the spirit of the day. 'The winds of spring are out at play, The needs of spring in heart and brain. We'll to the woods and gather mayFresh from the footprints of the rain.
Page 119 - ROSSES and troubles a-many have proved me. ^-** One or two women (God bless them!) have loved me. I have worked and dreamed, and I've talked at will. Of art and drink I have had my fill. I've comforted here, and I've succoured there.
Page 174 - VII is to come we know not. But we know That what has been was good — was good to show, Better to hide, and best of all to bear. We are the masters of the days that were. We have lived, we have loved, we have suffered . . . even so.
Page 111 - FRIENDS . . old friends One sees how it ends. A woman looks Or a man tells lies, And the pleasant brooks And the quiet skies, Ruined with brawling And caterwauling, Enchant no more As they did before. And so it ends With friends. Friends . . old friends . And what if it ends ? Shall we dare to shirk What we live to learn ? It has done its work, It has served its turn ; And, forgive and forget Or hanker and fret, We can be no more As we were before. When it ends, it ends With friends.
Page 14 - The depth and malice of her sly gray eyes ; The broad Scots tongue that flatters, scolds, defies ; The thick Scots wit that fells you like a mace. These thirty years has she been nursing here, Some of them under SYME, her hero still, Much is she worth, and even more is made of her.

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