An apolgy

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Roberts, 1871
 

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Page 3 - Forget six counties overhung with smoke, Forget the snorting steam and piston stroke, Forget the spreading of the hideous town ; Think rather of the pack-horse on the down, And dream of London, small, and white, and clean, The clear Thames bordered by its gardens green...
Page 2 - Dreamer of dreams, born out of my due time, Why should I strive to set the crooked straight? Let it suffice me that my murmuring rhyme Beats with light wing against the ivory gate, Telling a tale not too importunate To those who in the sleepy region stay, Lulled by the singer of an empty day.
Page 117 - Nor did that wonder in his heart arise As toward the goal the conquering maid 'gan draw. Nor did he gaze upon her eyes with awe, Too full the pain of longing filled his heart For fear or wonder there to have a part.
Page 323 - Nay, the garlanded gold hair Hides thee where thou art most fair ; Hides the rose-tinged hills of snow — Ah, sweet love, I have thee now ! Kiss me, love ! for who knoweth What thing cometh after death 1 HKC.
Page 127 - For bearing these within a scrip with thee, When first she heads thee from the starting-place Cast down the first one for her eyes to see, And when she turns aside make on apace, And if again she heads thee in the race...
Page 108 - Betwixt the trees with doubtful steps and slow. Yet howsoever slow he went, at last The trees grew sparser, and the wood was done ; Whereon one farewell, backward look he cast, Then, turning round to see what place was won...
Page 117 - Looked down upon the murmur royally, But then came trembling that the time was nigh When he midst pitying looks his love must claim, And jeering voices must salute his name. But as the throng he pierced to gain the throne...
Page 107 - Amphidamas, who, outrunning her with the help of Venus, gained the virgin and wedded her. THROUGH thick Arcadian woods a hunter went, Following the beasts up, on a fresh spring day ; But since his horn-tipped bow but seldom bent, Now at the noontide...
Page 3 - And treasured scanty spice from some far sea, Florence gold cloth, and Ypres napery, And cloth of Bruges, and hogsheads of Guienne; While nigh the thronged wharf Geoffrey Chaucer's pen Moves over bills of lading — mid such times Shall dwell the hollow puppets of my rhymes.
Page 112 - Above our heads rustle the aspens grey, Calm is the sky with, harmless clouds beset, No thought of storm the morning vexes yet; See, we have left our hopes and fears behind To give our very hearts up unto thee ; What better place than this then could we find By this sweet stream that knows...

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