Poems on Several Occasions, 1 tomas

Priekinis viršelis
Dodd, Mead, 1895
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262 psl. - There is place and enough for the pains of prose ; But whenever the May-blood stirs and glows, And the young year draws to the "golden prime...
223 psl. - OVE comes back to his vacant dwelling, — The old, old Love that we knew of yore ! We see him stand by the open door, With his great eyes sad, and his bosom swelling. He makes as though in our arms repelling, He fain would lie as he lay before ; — Love comes back to his vacant dwelling...
214 psl. - ARS VICTRIX. (IMITATED FROM THEOPHILE GAUTIER.) "WES ; when the ways oppose — When the hard means rebel, Fairer the work out-grows, — More potent far the spell. O POET, then, forbear The loosely-sandalled verse, Choose rather thou to wear The buskin — strait and terse; Leave to the tiro's hand The limp and shapeless style ; See that thy form demand The labour of the file. SCULPTOR, do thou discard The yielding clay, — consign To Paros marble hard The beauty of thy line ; — Model thy Satyr's...
163 psl. - Tis but another dead ; All you can say is said. Carry his body hence, — Kings must have slaves ; Kings climb to eminence Over men's graves : So this man's eye is dim ; — Throw the earth over him. What was the white you touched, There, at his side ? Paper his hand had clutched Tight ere he died ; — Message or wish, may be ; — Smooth the folds out and see.
177 psl. - A SONG OF THE FOUR SEASONS. WHEN Spring comes laughing By vale and hill, By wind-flower walking And daffodil, — Sing stars of morning, Sing morning skies, Sing blue of speedwell, — And my Love's eyes. When comes the Summer, Full-leaved and strong, And gay birds gossip The orchard long,— Sing hid, sweet honey That no bee sips ; Sing red, red roses, — And my Love's lips.
164 psl. - Throw the earth over him. What was the white you touched, There, at his side? Paper his hand had clutched Tight ere he died; — Message or wish, may be; Smooth the folds out and see. Hardly the worst of us Here could have smiled! Only the tremulous Words of a child; Prattle, that has for stops Just a few ruddy drops. Look. She is sad to miss, Morning and night, His — her dead father's — kiss; Tries to be bright, Good to mamma, and sweet. That is all. "Marguerite.
74 psl. - MONSIEUR VIEUXBOIS. BABETTE. M. VIEUXBOIS (turning querulously.) Day of my life ! Where can she get ? BABETTE ! I say ! BABETTE ! — BABETTE ! ! BABETTE (entering hurriedly.) Coming, M'sieu' ! If M'sieu' speaks So loud, he wont be well for weeks ! M.
243 psl. - Thou sang'st the simple feasts of old, — The beechen bowl made glad with wine . . Thine was the happier Age of Gold. Thou bad'st the rustic loves be told, — Thou bad'st the tuneful reeds combine, O Singer of the field and fold ! And round thee, ever-laughing, rolled The blithe and blue Sicilian brine . . Thine was the happier Age of Gold. Alas for us ! Our songs are cold ; Our Northern suns too sadly shine : — O Singer of the field and fold, Thine was the happier Age of Gold ! 1880. "TU NE...
102 psl. - TFI were you, when ladies at the play, sir, Beckon and nod, a melodrama through, I would not turn abstractedly away, sir, If I were you ! FRANK. If I were you, when persons I affected, Wait for three hours to take me down to Kew, I would, at least, pretend I recollected, If I were you ! NELLIE.
249 psl. - CHICKEN-SKIN, delicate, white, ^-' Painted by Carlo Vanloo, Loves in a riot of light, Roses and vaporous blue; Hark to the dainty frou-frou ! Picture above, if you can, Eyes that could melt as the dew, — This was the Pompadour's fan ! See how they rise at the sight, Thronging the...

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