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ALFRED AINGER Arthur Hallam beän beat beneath blood blow breast breath Camelot Clara Vere dark dead dear death deep dream dying earth Edition evermore eyes F. T. PALGRAVE fair fall Fcap flower FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE golden hand happy hear heard heart Heaven honour Isle kiss kiss'd Lady of Shalott land Lariano light lips little birdie live Locksley Hall look look'd Lord Lucknow Lyrical MATTHEW ARNOLD Maud mind moon morn mother mysen never night o'er pain peace Poems proputty Queen R. W. CHURCH rest Ring Rizpah roll'd rose round sail'd Sally seem'd shadow shame shine silent sing sleep smile song soul sound spirit star summer sweet tears thee theer thine things thou thought thro turn'd unto Vere de Vere voice weänt weary weep wild wind yonder
Page 208 - Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon in front of them Volley'd and thunder'd ; Storm'd at with shot and shell, Boldly they rode and well : Into the jaws of Death, Into the mouth of Hell Rode the six hundred.
Page 103 - I COME from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally, And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley. By thirty hills I hurry down, Or slip between the ridges, By twenty thorps, a little town, And half a hundred bridges.
Page 145 - What does little birdie say In her nest at peep of day ? Let me fly, says little birdie, Mother, let me fly away. Birdie, rest a little longer, Till the little wings are stronger. So she rests a little longer, Then she flies away. What does little baby say, In her bed at peep of day ? Baby says, like little birdie, Let me rise and fly away.
Page 227 - There rolls the deep where grew the tree. O earth, what changes hast thou seen ! There where the long street roars, hath been The stillness of the central sea. The hills are shadows, and they flow From form to form, and nothing stands ; They melt like mist, the solid lands, Like clouds they shape themselves and goBut in my spirit will I dwell, And dream my dream, and hold it true ; For tho' my lips may breathe adieu, I cannot think the thing farewell.
Page 31 - ill be the happiest time of all the glad New-year: To-morrow 'ill be of all the year the maddest merriest day, For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o
Page 160 - He cometh not,' she said ; She said, ' I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead...
Page 230 - The time draws near the birth of Christ; The moon is hid, the night is still; A single church below the hill Is pealing, folded in the mist. A single peal of bells below, That wakens at this hour of rest A single murmur in the breast, That these are not the bells I know. Like strangers...