Poems of Felicia Hemans

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William Blackwood and sons, 1872
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Page 375 - Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, And stars to set, but all — Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death...
Page 375 - tis lovely ! childhood's lip and cheek Mantling beneath its earnest brow of thought ; Gaze — yet what seest thou in those fair, and meek, And fragile things, as but for sunshine wrought ? ' Thou seest what grief must nurture for the sky, What death must fashion for eternity.
Page 377 - Traveller, in the stranger's land, Far from thine own household band ; Mourner, haunted by the tone Of a voice from this world gone...
Page 247 - I have looked o'er the hills of the stormy north, And the larch has hung all his tassels forth, The fisher is out on the sunny sea, And the reindeer bounds...
Page 248 - Ye of the rose lip and dew-bright eye, And the bounding footstep, to meet me fly ! With the lyre, and the wreath, and the joyous lay, Come forth to the sunshine, I may not stay. Away from the dwellings of care-worn men, The waters are sparkling in grove and glen...
Page 369 - TWAS a lovely thought to mark the hours As they floated in light away, By the opening and the folding flowers, That laugh to the summer's day.
Page 369 - THE boy stood on the burning deck Whence all but him had fled; The flame that lit the battle's wreck Shone round him o'er the dead. Yet beautiful and bright he stood, As born to rule the storm — A creature of heroic blood, A proud, though childlike form.
Page 247 - From the streams and founts I have loosed the chain, They are sweeping on to the silvery main, They are flashing down from the mountain brows, They are flinging spray o'er the forest boughs, They are bursting fresh from their sparry caves, And the earth resounds with the joy of waves ! Come forth, O ye children of gladness ! come ! Where the violets lie may be now your home.
Page 363 - Bring flowers, pale flowers, o'er the bier to shed, A crown for the brow of the early dead ! For this through its leaves hath the white rose burst, For this in the woods was the violet nursed ! Though they smile in vain for what once was ours, They are love's last gift. Bring ye flowers, pale flowers...
Page 248 - Which toss'd in the breeze with a play of light ; There were eyes, in whose glistening laughter lay No faint remembrance of dull decay ! There were steps that flew o'er the cowslip's head, As if for a banquet all earth were spread ; There were voices that rung through the sapphire sky, And had not a sound of mortality...

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