Poems

Forside
A. Hart, 1851 - 371 sider
 

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Side 32 - Yet a few days, and thee The all-beholding sun shall see no more In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again...
Side 35 - So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan which moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
Side 153 - Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? Alas! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again.
Side 34 - His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come And make their bed with thee.
Side 214 - Thou waitest late, and com'st alone, When woods are bare, and birds are flown, And frosts and shortening days portend The aged Year is near his end. Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye Look through its fringes to the sky, Blue — blue — as if that sky let fall A flower from its cerulean wall.
Side 42 - Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form ; yet, on my heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, And shall not soon depart. He who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone, Will lead my steps aright.
Side 132 - ... breath That from the inmost darkness of the place Comes, scarcely felt ; the barky trunks, the ground, The fresh moist ground, are all instinct with thee. Here is continual worship; — nature, here, In the tranquillity that thou dost love, Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly, around, From perch to perch, the solitary bird Passes ; and yon clear spring, that, midst its herbs, Wells softly forth and visits the strong roots Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale Of all the good it does.
Side 138 - There, through the long, long summer hours, The golden light should lie, And thick young herbs and groups of flowers Stand in their beauty by. The oriole should build and tell His love-tale, close beside my cell ; The idle butterfly Should rest him there, and there be heard The housewife bee and humming bird.
Side 134 - God ! when thou Dost scare the world with tempests, set on fire The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill With all the waters of the firmament The swift dark whirlwind that uproots...
Side 85 - THE stormy March is come at last, With wind, and cloud, and changing skies , I hear the rushing of the blast, That through the snowy valley flies Ah, passing few are they who speak, Wild stormy month! in praise of thee ; Yet, though thy winds are loud and bleak, Thou art a welcome month to rne.

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