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Allan Cunningham amidst art thou azure azure dreaming beauty Belshazzar bird blood breath bright calm Charlemagne child clouds cold dark dawn dead death deep Dost thou doth dream e'er earth eyes fair fame Farewell flowers flown gentle gold golden golden air grave Hark hath heart Heaven hope Horned Owl king laugh light look love thee merry merry England mighty morning mourn murmuring Narbonne ne'er never night noble nought o'er once pain pale pleasure poet poor pride Quadroon rain Ravenna rhyme rose round scorn set to Music shine sigh sing skies sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound Spirit spring stars stormy stream summer sweet tears tell tempest tender There’s thine things Thirty tyrants thoughts Titian toil truth Twas Tween twill unto voice weep wild wind wine winter world quail youth
Page 71 - I'm on the Sea ! I am where I would ever be ; With the blue above, and the blue below, And silence wheresoe'er I go ; If a storm should come and awake the deep, What matter ? I shall ride and sleep.
Page 72 - And a mother she was, and is, to me ; For I was born on the open sea ! The waves were white, and red the morn, In the noisy hour when I was born ; And the whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled...
Page 124 - And loveth the wood's deep gloom; And, with eyes like the shine of the moonstone cold, She awaiteth her ghastly groom.
Page 95 - O'er the deep ! o'er the deep ! Where the whale and the shark and the sword-fish sleep, — Outflying the blast and the driving rain, The Petrel telleth her tale — in vain : For the mariner curseth the warning bird Who bringeth him news of the storms unheard.
Page 72 - I love (oh ! how I love) to ride On the fierce foaming bursting tide, When every mad wave drowns the moon, Or whistles aloft his tempest tune, And tells how goeth the world below, And why the south-west blasts do blow.
Page 26 - Methinks I love all common things — The common air, the common flower ; The dear, kind, common thought, that springs From hearts that have no other dower...
Page 124 - Nor lonely the bird, nor his ghastly mate, They are each unto each a pride : Thrice fonder, perhaps, since a strange, dark fate Hath rent them from all beside!
Page 80 - Oh ! — what delight can a mortal lack, When he once is firm on his horse's back, With his stirrups short, and his snaffle strong, And the blast of the horn for his morning song...