A Handful of Lavender

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Houghton, Mifflin, 1891 - American poetry - 100 pages
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Page 17 - Sabbatli day; And she doth bring the tender wind That sings in bush and tree; And hints of all the apple boughs That kissed her by the way. Our parson stands up straight and tall, For our dear souls to pray, And of the place where sinners go Some grewsome things doth say: Now, she is highest Heaven...
Page 79 - No days that dawn can match for her The days before her house was bare; Sweet was the whole year with the stir Of young feet on the stair. Once was she wealthy with small cares, And small hands clinging to her knees; Now is she poor, and, weeping, bears Her strange, new hours of ease.
Page 50 - Unlocks her carved drawers; And sprigs of withered lavender Drop down upon the floors. For Lydia's bed must have the sheet Spun out of linen sheer, And Lydia's room be passing sweet With odors of last year. The violet flags are out once more In lanes salt with the sea; The thorn-bush at Saint Martin's door Grows white for such as she. So...
Page 50 - m just a year younger Since I 've known — you ! CHARLES HENRY WEBB. " To I,ulu : On One of My Birthdays." LYDIA. DREAK forth, break forth, O Sudbury town, And bid your yards be gay Up all your gusty streets and down, For Lydia comes to-day ! I hear it on the wharves below ; And if I buy or sell, The good folk as they churchward go Have only this to tell. My mother, just for love of her, Unlocks her carvfid drawers ; And sprigs of withered lavender Drop down upon the floors.
Page 62 - GARDEN AT BEMERTON FOR A FLYLEAF OF HERBERT'S POEMS YEAR after year, from dusk to dusk, How sweet this English garden grows, Steeped in two centuries' sun and musk, Walled from the world in gray repose, Harbor of honey-freighted bees, And wealthy with the rose. Here pinks with spices in their throats Nod by the bitter marigold; Here nightingales with haunting notes, When west and east with stars are bold, From out the twisted hawthorne-trees, Sing back the weathers old.
Page 97 - ELIZABETH. ELIZABETH, alack, Elizabeth ! Your lovely lilies blow, Slim, love, still, love, beside the echoing stair. The bees have found them out. Row after row Your pinks, those little blossoms with a breath Blown from the east, and out the spice-trees there, Nod up the paths ; and roses white as death, And roses red as love, grow everywhere ; For June is at the door. Alack, alack, alack, Elizabeth ! Sweeter than June, why do you come no more?
Page 35 - AFTER THE RAIN Dripping the hollyhocks beneath the wall, Their fires half quenched, a smouldering red; A shred of gold upon the grasses tall, A butterfly is hanging dead. A sound of trickling waters, like a tune Set to sweet words; a wind that blows Wet boughs against a saffron sky; all June Caught in the breath of one white rose.
Page 74 - Immortality Battles nor songs can from oblivion save. But Fame upon a white deed loves to build : From out that cup of water Sidney gave, Not one drop has been spilled.
Page 18 - And of the place where sinners go, Some grewsome things doth say; Now, she is highest Heaven to me; So Hell is far away. Most stiff and still the good folk sit To hear the sermon through; But if our God be such a God, And if these things be true, Why did He make her then so fair, And both her eyes so blue? A flickering light, the sun creeps in, And finds her sitting there; And touches soft her lilac gown, And soft her yellow hair; I look across to that old pew, And have both praise and prayer. Oh,...
Page 9 - HE old house stands deserted, gray, With sharpened gables high in air, And deep-set lattices, all gay With massive arch and framework rare ; And o'er it is a silence laid, That feeling, one grows sore afraid. The eaves are dark with heavy vines ; The steep roof wears a coat of moss ; The walls are touched with dim designs Of shadows moving slow across ; The balconies are damp with weeds, Lifting as close as streamside reeds. The garden is a loved retreat Of melancholy flowers, of lone And wild-mouthed...

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