Poems of the Orient

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Ticknor and Fields, 1855 - 203 oldal

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86. oldal - Bedouin Song From the Desert I come to thee On a stallion shod with fire; And the winds are left behind In the speed of my desire. Under thy window I stand, And the midnight hears my cry: I love thee, I love but thee, With a love that shall not die Till the sun grows cold, And the stars are old, And the leaves of the Judgment Book unfold! Look from thy window and see My passion and my pain; I lie on the sands below, And I faint in thy disdain. Let the night-winds touch thy brow With the heat of my...
205. oldal - POETS, <ke. 1 vol. 16mo. 75 cents. HISTORICAL AND CRITICAL ESSAYS. 2 vols. $1.50. AUTOBIOGRAPHIC SKETCHES. 1 vol. Price 75 cents. ESSAYS ON PHILOSOPHICAL WRITERS, &c.
175. oldal - But thou hadst gone — gone from the dreary land, Gone from the storms let loose on every hill, Lured by the sweet persuasion of a hand Which leads thee somewhere in the distance still. Where'er thou art, I know thou wearest yet The same bewildering beauty, sanctified By calmer joy, and touched with soft regret For him who seeks, but cannot reach thy side. I keep for thee the living love of old, And seek thy place in Nature, as a child Whose hand is parted from his playmate's hold, Wanders and cries...
9. oldal - FROM the forests and highlands We come, we come; From the river-girt islands, Where loud waves are dumb Listening to my sweet pipings. The wind in the reeds and the rushes, The bees on the bells of thyme, The birds on the myrtle bushes, The cicale above in the lime, And the lizards below in the grass, Were as silent as ever old Tmolus was Listening to my sweet pipings.
100. oldal - Bathed in the tenderest purple of distance, Tinted and shadowed by pencils of air, Thy battlements hang o'er the slopes and the forests, Seats of the Gods in the limitless ether, Looming sublimely aloft and afar. Above them, like folds of imperial ermine, Sparkle the snow-fields that furrow thy forehead, — Desolate realms, inaccessible, silent, Chasms and caverns where Day is a stranger, Garners where...
175. oldal - ... its violets closer to thy breast ; Though by the feet of generations trod, The headstone crumbles from thy place of rest. The marvel of thy beauty cannot die ; The sweetness of thy presence shall not fade ; Earth gave not all the glory of thine eye, — Death may not keep what Death has never made. It was not thine, that forehead strange and cold, Nor those dumb lips, they hid beneath the snow ; Thy heart would throb beneath that passive fold, Thy hands for me that stony clasp forego. But thou...
24. oldal - But to Truth's house there is a single door, Which is Experience. He teaches best, Who feels the hearts of all men in his breast, And knows their strength or weakness through his own.

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