Wanderers: The Poems of William Winter

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Macmillan, 1893 - 268 pages
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Page 44 - Then the grandsire speaks, in a whisper, — ' The end no man can see ; But we give him to his country, And we give our prayers to Thee.
Page 182 - December 3, 1879. If that glad song had ebbed away, Which, rippling on through smiles and tears, Has bathed with showers of diamond spray The rosy fields of seventy years, — If that sweet voice were hushed to-day, What should we say ? At first we thought him but a jest A ray of laughter, quick to fade ; We did not dream how richly blest In his pure life our lives were made : Till soon the aureole shone, confest, Upon his crest. When violets fade the roses blow ; When laughter dies the passions...
Page 213 - He put all strifes of passion by, And lived to God, from first to last. His song was like the pine-tree's sigh At midnight o'er a poet's grave, Or like the sea-bird's distant cry, Borne far across the twilight wave. There is no flower of meek delight, There is no star of heavenly pride, That shines not sweeter and more bright Because he lived, loved, sang, and died.
Page 72 - I riot and laugh. I laugh, like the cruel and turbulent wave ; I laugh at the church, and I laugh at the grave. I laugh at joy, and well I know That I merrily, merrily laugh at woe ; I terribly laugh, with an oath and a sneer, When I think that the hour of death is near.
Page 169 - Ah, be it mine, or soon or late, In that great day, in that bright land, With him as now to take my fate, Heart answering heart, hand clasped in hand ! EDGAR POE.
Page 38 - Pray that your hopeless heart may win them! Pray that your weary life may rest! Set your face to the stars, fond lover, — • Calm, and silent, and bright, and true! — They will pity you, they will hover Softly over the deep for you. Winds of heaven will sigh your dirges, Tears of heaven for you be spent, And sweet for you will the murmuring surges Pour the wail of their low lament.
Page 140 - At least one soug of mine was heard : One echo from the mountain air, One ocean murmur, glad and free — One sign that nothing grand or fair, In all this world was lost to me. I will not wake the sleeping lyre; I will not strain the chords of thought : The sweetest fruit of all desire Comes its own way, and comes unsought. Though all the bards of earth were dead. And all their music passed away, What nature wishes should be said She'll find the rightful voice to say! Her heart is in the shimmering...
Page 72 - I think that the hour of death draws near. For I know that Death is a guest divine, Who shall drink my blood as I drink this wine. And he cares for nothing ! A king is he ! Come on, old fellow, and drink with me ! With you I will drink to the solemn Past, Though the cup that I drain should be my last. I will drink to the phantoms of love and truth ; To ruined manhood and wasted youth.
Page 19 - Of virtue and of beauty too ! From what a height those eyes look down On him who proudly dares to sue ! Yet, free from self as God from sin Is love that loves, nor asks to win. Let me but love thee in the flower, The waving grass, the dancing wave, The fragrant pomp of garden bower, The violet on the nameless grave, Sweet dreams by night, sweet thoughts by day, And time shall tire ere love decay.

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