Atalanta in Calydon: And Lyrical Poems

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Tauchnitz, 1901 - 304 pages
 

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Page 22 - When the hounds of spring are on winter's traces, The mother of months in meadow or plain Fills the shadows and windy places With lisp of leaves and ripple of rain ; And the brown bright nightingale amorous Is half assuaged for Itylus, For the Thracian ships and the foreign faces, The tongueless vigil, and all the pain.
Page 118 - Of what may come hereafter For men that sow to reap: I am weary of days and hours, Blown buds of barren flowers, Desires and dreams and powers And everything but sleep.
Page 167 - For truth only is living, Truth only is whole, And the love of his giving Man's polestar and pole ; Man, pulse of my centre, and fruit of my body, and seed of my soul. One birth of my bosom ; One beam of mine eye ; One topmost blossom That scales the sky ; Man, equal and one with me, man that is made of me, man that is I.
Page 46 - And dust of the labouring earth ; And bodies of things to be In the houses of death and of birth ; And wrought with weeping and laughter, And fashioned with loathing and love, With life before and after And death beneath and above, "For a day and a night and a morrow, . That his strength might endure for a span With travail and heavy sorrow, The holy spirit of man.
Page 119 - Pale, beyond porch and portal, Crowned with calm leaves, she stands Who gathers all things mortal With cold immortal hands ; Her languid lips are sweeter Than love's who fears to greet her To men that mix and meet her From many times and lands.
Page 18 - My Little Lady," Author of: vide E. Frances Poynter. New Testament, the. The Authorised English Version, with Introduction and Various Readings from the three most celebrated Manuscripts of the Original Text, by Constantino Tischendorf (vol.
Page 185 - A BALLAD OF DREAMLAND. I mo my heart in a nest of roses, Out of the sun's way, hidden apart; In a softer bed than the soft white snow's is, Under the roses I hid my heart.
Page 120 - From too much love of living, From hope and fear set free, We thank with brief thanksgiving Whatever gods may be That no life lives for ever; That dead men rise up never; That even the weariest river Winds somewhere safe to sea.
Page 301 - For, sparing of his sacred strength, not often Among us darkling here the lord of light Makes manifest his music and his might In hearts that open and in lips that soften With the soft flame and heat of songs that shine. Thy lips indeed he touched with bitter wine, And nourished them indeed with bitter bread; Yet surely from his hand thy soul's food came...
Page 296 - For always thee the fervid languid glories Allured of heavier suns in mightier skies; Thine ears knew all the wandering watery sighs Where the sea sobs round Lesbian promontories, The barren kiss of piteous wave to wave That knows not where is that Leucadian grave Which hides too deep the supreme head of song.

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