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Alfred de Musset Amaryllis art thou beauty bids me sing Black Huntsman bloom bright bright eyes brow Cease charms Chepstow Cherry Tree dare days I loved dead dear death despair doth dream drink Of wine earth Endymion Erembor Eurydice eyes fain fair fairest feet flower fond forest boughs frank Margaret glad grave Grenville's grief hair hand happy days hath hear heart heart's Delight heartsease Hope Hunt kiss kiss'd laugh leaves Let us bestow lips look Love's loved Rosette lover Lubin lyre maid maiden mind your knitting never night nought o'er Old Vagabond oxen pansy passing Persephone pinnaces poor little chap Reynaut rich Rose seem'd smile song Sorrow soul sweet sweet violet tax-collector's tears Tell thee Theophile Gautier thine thou art thought thy love Tomb Twas unto Valentine Victor Hugo voice waltz weep wife,—ah wild woman wood words young Youth
Page 152 - And all their charmed dreams reflected hers. Let us bestow on her our charity ! How many times along the homeward street Her chariot's speed could scarce outrun the crowd : Above the clatter of her horses' feet She heard the echoes of applauses loud.
Page 99 - Friends! ye say sooth; this cell no longer is A prison; England only is my bound, This coward England all unworthy found. Still you can smile. — "The resurrection morn Riseth o'er England's grave; and we, forlorn, Shall be triumphant. Look thou forth and see Our merry England, kingless, bold and free. We have not lived, we have not died, for nought. The victory we have lost shall yet be wrought: We have not sown high deeds and hopes in vain.
Page 65 - OFAIR white feet ! O dawn-white feet Of Her my hope may claim ! Bare-footed through the dew she came, Her Love to meet. Star-glancing feet, the windflowers sweet Might envy, without shame, As through the grass they lightly came, Her Love to meet. O Maiden sweet, with flower-kiss'd feet ! My heart your footstool name ! Bare-footed through the dew she came, Her Love to meet.
Page 91 - Thou pointest to the path Of sacrifice, yet leaning on my arm. There is no need of words ; from me reply As little requisite : Thy lightest hand Guideth me, as the helm the ship ; Thine eye Doth more than all the Atridse could command.
Page v - She smil'd and said my song was sweet. Then Age, and, Love no longer mine, My brows I shaded with the vine. With flowers and love and wine and song, O Death ! life hath not been too long. ftoftett WE'LL A' GO PU' THE HEATHER WK 'LL a' go pu the heather, Our byres are a' to theek : Unless the peat-stack get a hap, We '11 a" be smoor'd wi
Page 140 - All of my friends are making gay My little room, with lips wine-wet : We only wait for you, Lisette ! Fortune ! you may go your way. Rap ! rap ! — If we might credit half her boast, What wonders gold has in its gift. Well, we have twenty bottles left, And still some credit with our host. Rap ! rap ! — Her pearls, and rubies too, she quotes, And mantles more than sumptuous : Lord ! but the purple's nought to us, — We're just now taking off our coats.
Page 61 - BLINDNESS. THEY call her fair. I do not know : I never thought to look. Who heeds the binder's costliest show When he may read the book ? What need a list of parts to me When I possess the whole ? Who only watch her eyes to see The colour of her soul. I may not praise her mouth, her chin, Her feet, her hands, her arms : My love lacks leisure to begin The schedule of her charms. To praise is only to compare : And therefore Love is blind. I loved before I was aware Her beauty was of kind.
Page 67 - SILENCED SINGER. THE nest is built, the song hath ceased : The minstrel joineth in the feast, So singeth not. The poet's verse, Crippled by Hymen's household curse, Follows no more its hungry quest. Well if Love's feathers line the nest. Yet blame not that beside the fire Love hangeth up his unstrung lyre ! How sing of hope when Hope hath fled, Joy whispering lip to lip instead ? Or how repeat the tuneful moan When the Obdurate's all my own ? Love, like the lark, while soaring sings : Wouldst have...
Page 153 - How many times along the homeward street Her chariot's speed could scarce outrun the crowd ! Above the clatter of her horses' feet She heard the echoes of applauses loud. To hand her from her carriage to her door, To tend her every pace voluptuously, How many rivals watch'd her steps before ! — Let us bestow on her our charity ! When all the arts were wreathing crowns for her, How full of pomp was her high dwelling-place ; How many crystals, bronzes, columns, were As loving tribute brought, her...