Music and Moonlight: Poems and Songs

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Chatto and Windus, 1874 - English poetry - 208 pages
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Page 2 - We, in the ages lying In the buried past of the earth, Built Nineveh with our sighing, And Babel itself with our mirth; And o'erthrew them with prophesying To the old of the new world's worth; For each age is a dream that is dying, Or one that is coming to birth.
Page 1 - WE are the music-makers, And we are the dreamers of dreams, Wandering by lone sea-breakers, And sitting by desolate streams; World-losers and world-forsakers, On whom the pale moon gleams: Yet we are the movers and shakers Of the world for ever, it seems.
Page 191 - Hath any loved you well, down there, Summer or winter through ? Down there, have you found any fair Laid in the grave with you ? Is death's long kiss a richer kiss Than mine was wont to be — Or have you gone to some far bliss And quite forgotten me...
Page 192 - What soft enamouring of sleep Hath you in some soft way? What charmed death holdeth you with deep Strange lure by night and day? — A little space below the grass, Out of the sun and shade; But worlds away from me, alas, Down there where you are laid? My...
Page 41 - Now says, 1 love thee not ? The skies seemed true above thee, The rose true on the tree ; The bird seemed true the summer through, But all proved false to me. World ! is there one good thing in you, Life, love, or death — or what ? Since lips that sang, I love thee, Have said, I love thee not?
Page 40 - And shivered at the cold. Her passing touch was death to all, Her passing look a blight : She made the white rose-petals fall, And turned the red rose white. Her pale robe, clinging to the grass, Seemed like a snake That bit the grass and ground, alas! And a sad trail did make. She went up slowly to the gate; And there, just as of yore, She turned back at the last to wait, And say farewell once more.
Page 4 - But we, with our dreaming and singing, Ceaseless and sorrowless we ! The glory about us clinging Of the glorious futures we see, Our souls with high music ringing: O men ! it must ever be That we dwell, in our dreaming and singing, A little apart from ye.
Page 39 - I made another garden, yea, For my new Love: I left the dead rose where it lay And set the new above. 'Why did my Summer not begin? Why did my heart not haste? My old Love came and walk'd therein, And laid the garden waste.
Page 3 - But on one man's soul it hath broken, A light that doth not depart; And his look, or a word he hath spoken, Wrought flame in another man's heart. And therefore to-day is thrilling With a past day's late fulfilling; And the multitudes are enlisted In the faith that their fathers resisted, And, scorning the dream of to-morrow, Are bringing to pass, as they may, In the world, for its joy or its sorrow, The dream that was scorned yesterday.
Page 42 - ... sun's kiss will scarce fall Into one flower's gold cup; I think the bird will miss me, And give the summer up. O sweet place ! desolate in tall Wild grass, have you forgot How her lips loved to kiss me, Now that they kiss me not ? Be false or fair above me, Come back with any face, Summer...

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