Memories of the Tennysons

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J. MacLehose and sons, 1900 - 252 sider
 

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Side 192 - To watch the crisping ripples on the beach, And tender curving lines of creamy spray; To lend our hearts and spirits wholly To the influence of mild-minded melancholy...
Side 141 - Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, An fill it in a silver tassie ; That I may drink, before I go, A service to my bonnie lassie : The boat rocks at the pier o...
Side 122 - A shadow flits before me, Not thou, but like to thee: Ah Christ, that it were possible For one short hour to see...
Side 183 - Holy, holy, holy! though the darkness hide Thee! Though the eye of sinful man Thy glory may not see; Only Thou art holy; there is none beside Thee, Perfect in power, in love and purity. 4 Holy, holy, holy! Lord God Almighty! All Thy works shall praise Thy name, in earth and sky and sea; Holy, holy, holy, merciful and mighty; God in three Persons, blessed Trinity!
Side 194 - The time draws near the birth of Christ: The moon is hid; the night is still; The Christmas bells from hill to hill Answer each other in the mist. Four voices of four hamlets round, From far and near, on mead and moor, Swell out and fail, as if a door Were shut between me and the sound: Each voice four changes on the wind, That now dilate, and now decrease, Peace and goodwill, goodwill and peace, Peace and goodwill, to all mankind.
Side 194 - Upon the middle of the night, Waking she heard the night-fowl crow: The cock sung out an hour ere light: From the dark fen the oxen's low Came to her: without hope of change, In sleep she seem'd to walk forlorn, Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn About the lonely moated grange. She only said, "The day is dreary, He cometh not," she said; She said, "I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead!
Side 197 - Over its grave i' the earth so chilly; Heavily hangs the hollyhock, Heavily hangs the tiger-lily. The air is damp, and hush'd, and close, As a sick man's room when he taketh repose An hour before death; My very heart faints and my whole soul grieves At the moist rich smell of the rotting leaves, And the breath Of the fading edges of box beneath, And the year's last rose. Heavily hangs the broad...
Side 191 - Fall, as the crest of some slow-arching wave, Heard in dead night along that tableshore, Drops flat, and after the great waters break Whitening for half a league, and thin themselves, Far over sands marbled with moon and cloud, From less and less to nothing...
Side 194 - 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...
Side 195 - THE plain was grassy, wild and bare, Wide, wild, and open to the air, Which had built up everywhere An under-roof of doleful gray. With an inner voice the river ran, Adown it floated a dying swan, And loudly did lament. It was the middle of the day. Ever the weary wind went on, And took the reed-tops as it went. Some blue peaks in the distance rose, And white against the cold-white sky, Shone out their crowning snows.

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