Beautiful poetry, selected by the ed. of The Critic

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Page 493 - Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood In brighter light, and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? Alas! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again.
Page 453 - HE that loves a rosy cheek, Or a coral lip admires, Or from starlike eyes doth seek Fuel to maintain his fires ; As old Time makes these decay, So his flames must waste away. But a smooth and steadfast mind, Gentle thoughts and calm desires, Hearts with equal love combined, Kindle never-dying fires. Where these are not, I despise Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes...
Page 438 - GOING TO THE WARS Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly. True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honour more.
Page 453 - mid blossoms straying, Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee — Both were mine! Life went a-maying With Nature, Hope, and Poesy, When I was young ! When I was young? — Ah, woful when! Ah ! for the change 'twixt Now and Then ! This breathing house not built with hands, This body that does me grievous wrong, O'er aery cliffs and glittering sands How lightly then it...
Page 411 - And Christ himself doth rule. In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion, By guardian angels led, Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution, She lives, whom we call dead. Day after day we think what she is doing In those bright realms of air ; Year after year, her tender steps pursuing, Behold her grown more fair. Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken The bond which nature gives, Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken, May reach her where she lives.
Page 450 - Their blood is shed In confirmation of the noblest claim, Our claim to feed upon immortal truth, To walk with God, to be divinely free, To soar and to anticipate the skies.
Page 493 - THE melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread; The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day.
Page 410 - Let us be patient ! These severe afflictions Not from the ground arise, But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise.
Page 496 - WiLL you walk into my parlour'?" said the Spider to the Fly, "'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy; The way into my parlour is up a -winding stair, And I have many curious things to shew when you are there." " Oh no, no," said the little Fly, " to ask me is in vain, For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again.
Page 455 - Yet abandon'd to thy will, Yet imagining no ill, Yet too innocent to blush ; Like the linnet in the bush To the mother-linnet's note Moduling her slender throat ; Chirping forth thy petty joys, Wanton in the change of toys, Like the linnet green, in May Flitting to each bloomy spray ; Wearied then and glad...

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