Pomegranates from an English Garden: A Selection from the Poems of Robert Browning

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Chautauqua Press, 1885 - English poetry - 137 pages
 

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Page 35 - Never glad confident morning again ! Best fight on well, for we taught him — strike gallantly, Menace our heart ere we master his own; Then let him receive the new knowledge and wait us, Pardoned in heaven, the first by the throne ! 'HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX...
Page 12 - Nobly, nobly Cape Saint Vincent to the North-West died away ; Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into Cadiz Bay; Bluish 'mid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar lay ; In the dimmest North-East distance dawned Gibraltar grand and gray; " Here and here did England help me : how can I help England...
Page 48 - Fear death? — to feel the fog in my throat, The mist in my face, When the snows begin, and the blasts denote I am nearing the place, The power of the night, the press of the storm, The post of the foe; Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form, Yet the strong man must go: For the journey is done and the summit attained, And the barriers fall, Though a battle's to fight ere the guerdon be gained, The reward of it all.
Page 34 - THE LOST LEADER. JUST for a handful of silver he left us, Just for a riband to stick in his coat — Found the one gift of which fortune bereft us, Lost all the others, she lets us devote; They, with the gold to give, doled him out silver...
Page 63 - And I know not if, save in this, such gift be allowed to man, That out of three sounds he frame, not a fourth sound, but a star.
Page 45 - Sixteen years old when she died ! Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name ; It was not her time to love ; beside, Her life had many a hope and aim, Duties enough and little...
Page 13 - I SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris, and he ; I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three ; " Good speed ! " cried the watch, as the gatebolts undrew ; "Speed...
Page 45 - It was not her time to love ; beside, Her life had many a hope and aim, Duties enough and little cares, And now was quiet, now astir, Till God's hand beckoned unawares, — And the sweet white brow is all of her.
Page 11 - Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge Leans to the field and scatters on the clover Blossoms and dewdrops — at the bent spray's edge — That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, Lest you should think he never could recapture The first fine careless rapture!
Page 81 - Do I find love so full in my nature, God's ultimate gift, That I doubt His own love can compete with it ? Here the parts shift ? Here, the creature surpass the creator — the end, what began ? Would I fain in my impotent yearning do all for this man, And dare doubt he alone shall not help him, who yet alone can...

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