Ballads and Lyrics

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A. H. Bullen, 1902 - American poetry - 79 pages
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Page 9 - MAKE me over, Mother April, When the sap beings to stir! When thy flowery hand delivers All the mountain-prisoned rivers, And thy great heart beats and quivers To revive the days that were, Make me over, Mother April, When the sap begins to stir!
Page 19 - In the earlier earth than now ; One at his right hand, one at his left, To obey as he taught them how. And Hack was blind and Hew was dumb, But both had the wild, wild heart ; And God's calm will was their burning will, And the gist of their toil was art. They made the moon and the belted stars, They set the sun to ride ; They loosed the girdle and veil of the sea, The wind and the purple tide. Both flower and beast beneath their hands To beauty and speed outgrew, — The furious fumbling hand of...
Page 14 - And some are dotards, who believe And glory in the days of old; While some are dreamers, harping still Upon an unknown age of gold. Hopeless or witless! Not one heeds, As lavish Time comes down the way And tosses in the suppliant hat One great new-minted gold To-day.
Page 13 - The broad gold wake of the afternoon; The silent fleck of the cold new moon; The sound of the hollow sea's release From stormy tumult to starry peace; With only another league to wend; And two brown arms at...
Page 7 - With die filmy world before him. His flimsy sails abroad on the wind Are shivered with fairy thunder; On a line that sings to the light of his wings He makes for the lands of wonder.
Page 20 - Nay," the Master Workman said, " For your toil is just begun. " And ye who served me of old as God Shall serve me anew as man, Till I compass the dream that is in my heart, And perfect the vaster plan." And still the craftsman over his craft, In the vague white light of dawn, With God's calm will for his burning will, While the mounting day comes on, Yearning, wind-swift, indolent, wild, Toils with those shadowy two, — The faltering, restless hand of Hack, And the tireless hand of Hew.
Page 21 - round and Haw looked on While God did all the work. Hem was a fogy, and Haw was a prig, For both had the dull, dull mind; And whenever they found a thing to do, They yammered and went it blind. Hem was the father of bigots and bores; As the sands of the sea were they. And Haw was the father of all the tribe Who criticize to-day. But God was an artist from the first, And knew what he was about; While over his shoulder sneered these two, And advised him to rub it out. They prophesied ruin ere man was...
Page 64 - With the red embers' glare Across thy folding arm And dark tumultuous hair! And though thy coming rouse The sleep-cry of no bird, The keepers of the house Shall tremble at thy word. Come, for the soul is free! In all the vast dreamland There is no lock for thee, Each door awaits thy hand. Ah, not in dreams at all, Fleering, perishing, dim, But thy old self, supple and tall, Mistress and child of whim ! The proud imperious guise, Impetuous and serene, The sad mysterious eyes, And dignity of mien!...
Page 8 - His morals are mixed, but his will is fixed; He prospers after his kind, And follows an instinct, compass-sure, The philosophers call blind. And that is why, when he comes to die, He'll have an easier sentence Than some one I know who thinks just so, And then leaves room for repentance. He never could box the compass round; He...
Page 59 - A grievous stream, that to and fro Athrough the fields of Acadie Goes wandering, as if to know Why one beloved face should be So long from home and Acadie ! Was it a year or lives ago We took the grasses in our hands, And caught the summer flying low Over the waving meadow lands, And held it there between our hands...

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