Wildwood Chimes

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R. Clarke, 1891 - 129 pages
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Page 113 - Ah, dear dream-city of the heart, beyond Our searching gaze thy shining temples rise. Our reaching hands, our calling voices vain ; But some day, in the dim, uncertain light, All cold and dumb we shall go floating down . To thy white gates. There royal fame, perchance, And pitying love will come, and gazing long The record of some tender grace may find, And give us knightly greeting, at the last.
Page 25 - Ah ! Fame, do thy laurel-wreathed pages Know aught of the hallowed place That softens the rime of the ages — Though nameless forever its grace — Where worn with the fever of living, Yet true unto death to its trust, And spent with the unreturned giving A woman's heart crumbled to dust ? NATURE.
Page 123 - Within the crab-tree's boughs of fragrant pink. And deep within this frozen solitude I know the veiled Life lies as if in sleep, Her pale hands clasping close her silken vest, Her lips all cold and motionless; but soft And warm her gentle heart is beating yet; • And through the closed lids her dreaming eyes Look upward for the dawn.
Page 99 - The airs of childhood's fair enchanted realm, Long lost to view, to memory still most dear. Thou art, for aye, eternal, land divine ! Thy verdure grows beside unfailing streams Whose sources lie upon the happy hills Sim-bathed forevermore.
Page 10 - Here, in this cleft, her blue eyes full of tears, The iris waves; and in her trembling hand The columbine holds out her rosy bells Like lamps before a shrine ; while round him stand In dark unbending pride, the druid trees.
Page 15 - Thou art a child of earth ; and deep within Thy nature live the mysteries of all Her sheen and shadows. Rock and wind and wave...
Page 72 - I breathe the breath of gods. I lie On golden shores of Arcady; And softly life forever goes, The world forgotten and its woes, MEMORY.
Page 111 - Are they not all the King's own messengers Who fill the world with beauty, and delight The heart of man with loveliness and grace?
Page 110 - Of the loved brook in softest whispers poured The dole of its sad longing at my feet, I heard the chiming throbs of Nature's heart...
Page 103 - Across the rushing tide the swift gray fox, In the lone night has borne his gasping prey; And there...

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