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2,201 illustrations — Poetic illustrations and verse for preaching
Margaret, are you grieving Over Goldengrove unleaving? Leaves, like the things of man, you With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
She has laughed as softly as if she sighed, She has counted six, and over, Of a purse well filled, and a heart well tried - Oh, each a worthy lover!
But wherefore do not you a mightier way Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time? And fortify your self in your decay With means more blessed than my barren rhyme?
Go from me, summer friends, and tarry not: I am no summer friend, but wintry cold, A silly sheep benighted from the fold, A sluggard with a thorn-choked garden plot.
O THOU unknown, Almighty Cause Of all my hope and fear! In whose dread presence, ere an hour, Perhaps I must appear!
Come live with me, and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove, That hills and valleys, dales and fields, And all the craggy mountain yields.
So are you to my thoughts as food to life, Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground; And for the peace of you I hold such strife As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found.
When I was dead, my spirit turned To seek the much-frequented house: I passed the door, and saw my friends Feasting beneath green orange boughs; From hand to hand they pushed the wine, They sucked the pulp of plum and...
In the glad springtime when leaves were green, O merrily the throstle sings! I sought, amid the tangled sheen, Love whom mine eyes had never seen, O the glad dove has golden wings! Between the blossoms red and white, O merrily the throstle sings!
IMITATIONS OF ENGLISH POETS. In every town, where Thamis rolls his tyde, A narrow pass there is, with houses low; Where ever and anon the stream is eyed, And many a boat soft sliding to and fro.
There came a Day at Summer's full, Entirely for me -- I thought that such were for the Saints, Where Resurrections -- be -- The...
When my mother died I was very young, And my father sold me while yet my tongue Could scarcely cry "Weep! weep!" So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep.
As a pale phantom with a lamp Ascends some ruin's haunted stair, So glides the moon along the damp Mysterious chambers of the air. Now hidden in cloud, and now revealed, As if this phantom, full of pain, Were by...
When they dislocate my Brain! Amputate my freckled Bosom! Make me bearded like a man! Blush, my spirit, in thy Fastness -- Blush, my unacknowledged clay -- Seven years of troth have taught thee More than Wifehood every may!
how thy worth with manners may I sing, When thou art all the better part of me? What can mine own praise to mine own self bring? And what is't but mine own when I praise thee?
THOU ling’ring star, with lessening ray, That lov’st to greet the early morn, Again thou usher’st in the day My Mary from my soul was torn. dear departed shade! Where is thy place of blissful rest? See’st thou thy lover lowly laid?
As due by many titles I resign My self to Thee, O God; first I was made By Thee, and for Thee, and when I was decayed Thy blood bought that, the which before was Thine; I am Thy son,...
thou that roll'st above thy glorious Fire, Round as the shield which grac'd my godlike Sire, Whence are the beams, O Sun! thy endless blaze, Which far eclipse each minor Glory's rays? Forth in thy Beauty here thou deign'st to shine!
The cat runs races with her tail. The dog Leaps oer the orchard hedge and knarls the grass. The swine run round and grunt and play with straw, Snatching out hasty mouthfuls from the stack. Sudden upon the elmtree tops...
The autumn-time has come; On woods that dream of bloom, And over purpling vines, The low sun fainter shines. The aster-flower is failing, The hazel's gold is paling; Yet overhead more near The eternal stars appear!
The harbingers are come. See, see their mark; White is their colour, and behold my head. But must they have my brain? must they dispark Those sparkling notions, which therein were bred? Must dulnesse turn me to a clod? Yet...
All the names I know from nurse: Gardener's garters, Shepherd's purse, Bachelor's buttons, Lady's smock, And the Lady Hollyhock. Fairy places, fairy things, Fairy woods where the wild bee wings, Tiny trees for tiny dames-- These must all be fairy names!
who rollest in yon azure field, Round as the orb of my forefather's shield, Whence are thy beams? From what eternal store Dost thou, O Sun! thy vast effulgence pour?
Such were the notes thy once-loved Poet sung, Till Death untimely stopp'd his tuneful tongue. Oh just beheld and lost! admired and mourn'd! With softest manners, gentlest arts adorn'd! Blest in each science, blest in every strain! Dear to the Muse!
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