Ballads and Lyrics

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A. H. Bullen, 1902 - 79 pages
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Page 7 - With the burly rote of his rumbling throat He batters it down the world. He learned it once in his father's house, Where the ballads of eld were sung; And merry enough is the burden rough, But no man knows the tongue. Oh, fair, they say, was his bride to see, And wilful she must have been, That she could bide at his gruesome side When the first red dawn came in. And sweet, they say, is her kiss to those She greets to his border home; And softer than sleep her hand's first sweep That beckons, and...
Page 9 - MAKE me over, Mother April, When the sap beings to stir! When thy flowery hand delivers All the mountain-prisoned rivers, And thy great heart beats and quivers To revive the days that were, Make me over, Mother April, When the sap begins to stir!
Page 11 - Let me taste the old immortal Indolence of life once more; Not recalling nor foreseeing, Let the great slow joys of being Well my heart through as of yore! Let me taste the old immortal Indolence of life once more! Give me the old drink for rapture, The delirium to drain, All my fellows drank in plenty At the Three Score Inns and Twenty From the mountains to the main! Give me the old drink for rapture, The delirium to drain! Only make me over, April, When the sap begins to stir! Make me man or make...
Page 13 - A thirst like that of the Thirsty Sword, And a jug of cider on the board ; An idle noon, a bubbling spring, The sea in the pine-tops murmuring; A scrap of gossip at the ferry ; A comrade neither glum nor merry, Asking nothing, revealing naught, But minting his words from a fund of thought...
Page 14 - And some are dotards, who believe And glory in the days of old; While some are dreamers, harping still Upon an unknown age of gold. Hopeless or witless! Not one heeds, As lavish Time comes down the way And tosses in the suppliant hat One great new-minted gold To-day.
Page 20 - Nay," the Master Workman said, " For your toil is just begun. " And ye who served me of old as God Shall serve me anew as man, Till I compass the dream that is in my heart, And perfect the vaster plan.
Page 13 - The broad gold wake of the afternoon; The silent fleck of the cold new moon; The sound of the hollow sea's release From stormy tumult to starry peace; With only another league to wend; And two brown arms at...
Page 8 - His morals are mixed, but his will is fixed; He prospers after his kind, And follows an instinct, compass-sure, The philosophers call blind. And that is why, when he comes to die...
Page 21 - round and Haw looked on While God did all the work. Hem was a fogy, and Haw was a prig, For both had the dull, dull mind; And whenever they found a thing to do, They yammered and went it blind. Hem was the father of bigots and bores; As the sands of the sea were they. And Haw was the father of all the tribe Who criticize to-day. But God was an artist from the first, And knew what he was about; While over his shoulder sneered these two, And advised him to rub it out. They prophesied ruin ere man was...
Page 60 - ... after-heat Made running gold, and in the gleam We freed our birch upon the stream. There down along the elms at dusk We lifted dripping blade to drift, Through twilight scented fine like musk, Where night and gloom awhile uplift, Nor sunder soul and soul adrift.

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