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Calm on the bosom of thy God, Fair spirit! rest thee now! - Siege of Valencia--Dirge (sc. 9) [Rest] I too, Shepherd, in Arcadia dwelt. - Song, in Songs for Sunny Hours [Arcadia] Yet, the great ocean hath no tone of power Mightier to reach the soul, in thought's hushed hour, Than yours, ye Lilies! chosen thus and graced! - Sonnet--The Lilies of the Field [Lilies] In the busy haunts of men. - Tale of the Secret Tribunal (pt. I, l. 2) [Cities] Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy! Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy; Dreams cannot picture a world so fair-- Sorrow and death may not enter there; Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom, For beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb, It is there, it is there, my child! - The Better Land [Heaven] Is it where the flow'r of the orange blows, And the fireflies dance thro' the myrtle boughs? - The Better Land [Fireflies] Alas! for love, if thou art all, And nought beyond, O earth. - The Graves of a Household [Love] Ay, call it holy ground, The soil where first they trod, They have left unstained, what there they found,-- Freedom to worship God. - The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers [Freedom : Worship] Why, who shall talk of shrines, of sceptres riven? It is too sad to think on what we are, Then from its height afar A world sinks thus; and yon majestic Heaven Shines not the less for that one vanish'd star! - The Lost Pleiad [Stars] Oh! lightly, lightly tread! A holy thing is sleep, On the worn spirit shed, And eyes that wake to weep. - The Sleeper [Sleep] The wind, the wandering wind Of the golden summer eyes-- Whence is the thrilling magic Of its tunes amongst the leaves? Oh, is it from the waters, Or from the long, tall grass? Or is it from the hollow rocks Through which its breathings pass? - The Wandering Wind [Wind] I come, I come! ye have called me long, I come o'er the mountain with light and song: Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earth, By the winds which tell of the violet's birth, By the primrose-stars in the shadowy grass, By the green leaves, opening as I pass. - Voice of Spring [Spring] Willow, in thy breezy moan, I can hear a deeper tone; Through thy leaves come whispering low, Faint sweet sound of long ago-- Willow, sighing willow! - Willow Song [Willow] Thou hast a charmed cup, O Fame! A draught that mantles high, And seems to lift this earthly frame Above mortality. Away! to me--a woman--bring Sweet water from affection's spring. - Woman and Fame [Fame] Displaying page 3 of 3 for this author: << Prev 1 2 [3]
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