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angels answer beauty beloved birds bless born breath Browning called close critic crown dark death deep died dream drop earth Elizabeth Barrett Browning English eyes face fair fall feeling Florence gods grave greatest Greek green half hand head hear heard heart hills human Italy keep lady leaves Leigh light lines lips lived look lost Miss mountains nature never noble pale Pan is dead pass passion plays poem poet poetry published rest river Robert rose round seemed side silence singing sleep smile song Sonnets soul speak spirit stand steed stood strong sweet tears Tennyson thee things thou thought Toll slowly trees true truth turned verse vision voice volumes weep woman women writing young
Page 160 - The oracles are dumb, No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance, or breathed spell, Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
Page 108 - Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life ; and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.
Page 161 - The lonely mountains o'er And the resounding shore, A voice of weeping heard and loud lament ; From haunted spring and dale, Edged with poplar pale, The parting Genius is with sighing sent : With flower-inwoven tresses torn, The Nymphs, in twilight shade of tangled thickets, mourn.
Page 150 - For there they that carried us away captive required of us a song; and they that wasted us required of us mirth, saying, Sing us one of the songs of Zion, 4 How shall we sing the LORD'S song in a strange land?
Page 106 - ... each one in a gracious hand appears To bear a gift for mortals, old or young: And, as I mused it in his antique tongue, I saw, in gradual vision through my tears, The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years, Those of my own life, who by turns had flung A shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware, So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair: And a voice said in mastery, while I strove, — 'Guess now who holds thee?' — 'Death,' I said. But, there, The silver...
Page 104 - He tore out a reed, the great god Pan, From the deep cool bed of the river : The limpid water turbidly ran, And the broken lilies a-dying lay, And the dragon-fly had fled away, Ere he brought it out of the river. III. High on the shore sat the great god Pan...
Page 173 - Behind him cast ; the broad circumference Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views At evening from the top of Fesole Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe.
Page xvi - The face of all the world is changed, I think, Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul Move still, oh, still, beside me as they stole Betwixt me and the dreadful outer brink Of obvious death, where I, who thought to sink, Was caught up into love, and taught the whole Of life in a new rhythm.
Page 1 - What would we give to our beloved? The hero's heart to be unmoved, The poet's star-tuned harp, to sweep, The patriot's voice, to teach and rouse, The monarch's crown, to light the brows? — He giveth His beloved, sleep.