Latter-day Lyrics: Being Poems of Sentiment and Reflection by Living Writers

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Chatto & Windus, 1878 - 388 psl.
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28 psl. - I HAVE been here before, But when or how I cannot tell : I know the grass beyond the door, The sweet keen smell, The sighing sound, the lights around the shore. You have been mine before, — How long ago I may not know : But just when at that swallow's soar Your neck turned so, Some veil did fall, — I knew it all of yore.
142 psl. - PRUNE thou thy words, the thoughts control That o'er thee swell and throng ; They will condense within thy soul, And change to purpose strong. But he, who lets his feelings run In soft luxurious flow, Shrinks when hard service must be done, And faints at every woe. Faith's meanest deed more favour bears, Where hearts and wills are weighed, Than brightest transports, choicest prayers, Which bloom their hour and fade.
193 psl. - Ah, love, let us be true To one another! for the world, which seems To lie before us like a land of dreams, So various, so beautiful, so new, Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain ; An^ we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, Where ignorant armies clash by night.
112 psl. - The moth's kiss, first! Kiss me as if you made believe You were not sure, this eve. How my face, your flower, had pursed Its petals up; so, here and there You brush it, till I grow aware Who wants me, and wide ope I burst.
192 psl. - DOVER BEACH The sea is calm tonight, The tide is full, the moon lies fair Upon the straits;— on the French coast the light Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand, Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
149 psl. - Ah! when at last we lie with tranced breath, Not vexing Thee in death, And Thou rememberest of what toys We made our joys, How weakly understood Thy great commanded good, Then, fatherly not less Than I whom Thou hast moulded from the clay, Thou'lt leave Thy wrath, and say, 'I will be sorry for their childishness.
162 psl. - The year's at the spring And day's at the morn; Morning's at seven; The hill-side's dew-pearled; The lark's on the wing; The snail's on the thorn: God's in his heaven — All's right with the world!
22 psl. - With all my will, but much against my heart, We two now part. My Very Dear, Our solace is, the sad road lies so clear. It needs no art, With faint, averted feet And many a tear, In our opposed paths to persevere. Go thou to East, I West. We will not say There's any hope, it is so far away. But, O, my Best, When the one darling of our widowhead, The nursling Grief, Is dead, And no dews blur our eyes To see the peach-bloom come in evening skies, Perchance we may, Where now this night is day, And even...
172 psl. - With echoing straits between us thrown, Dotting the shoreless watery wild, We mortal millions live alone, The islands feel the enclasping flow, And then their endless bounds they know. But when the moon their hollows lights, And they are swept by balms of spring, And in their glens, on starry nights, The nightingales divinely sing; And lovely notes, from shore to shore, Across the sounds and channels pour— Oh ! then a longing like despair Is to their farthest caverns sent ; For surely once, they...
265 psl. - COUNT each affliction, whether light or grave, God's messenger sent down to thee. Do thou With courtesy receive him : rise and bow : And, ere his shadow pass thy threshold, crave Permission first his heavenly feet to lave, Then lay before him all thou hast. Allow No cloud of passion to usurp thy brow, Or mar thy hospitality, no wave Of mortal tumult to obliterate Thy soul's marmoreal calmness.

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