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Page 87 - She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek. She pined in thought And with a green and yellow melancholy She sat, like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief.
Page 303 - I do not know what I may appear to the world, but to myself I seem to have been only like a boy playing on the sea-shore, and diverting myself in now and then finding a smoother pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me.
Page 357 - Yes ! where is he, the champion and the child Of all that's great or little, wise or wild ? Whose game was empires, and whose stakes were thrones ? Whose table earth — whose dice were human bones ? Behold the grand result in yon lone isle, And, as thy nature urges, weep or smile.
Page 405 - And count the silent moments as they pass : The winged moments, whose unstaying speed No art can stop, or in their course arrest; Whose flight shall shortly count me with the dead, And lay me down in peace with them that rest.
Page 150 - This night as ye use, Who shall for the present delight here ; Be a king by the lot, And who shall not Be Twelfe-day queene for the night here.
Page 176 - Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens sail ; The famish'd eagle screams, and passes by. Dear lost companions of my tuneful art, Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, Ye died amidst your dying country's cries — No more I weep. They do not sleep. On yonder cliffs, a...
Page 362 - I feel Him in the gentle showers, The soft south wind, the breath of flowers, The sunshine and the shade. And yet (ungrateful that I am !) I've turned in sullen mood From all these things, whereof He said, When the great whole was finished, That they were
Page 405 - Farewell, ye blooming fields ! ye cheerful plains ! Enough for me the churchyard's lonely mound, Where Melancholy with still Silence reigns, And the rank grass waves o'er the cheerless ground.