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beat bells blood bound break breast breath bring calm cloth cloud cold dark dead dear Death deep doubt draw dream dust dying earth EDITION eyes face fail fair faith fall fancy fear feel flower grave grief grow half hands happy hath hear heard heart hill hold hope hour human ITALY land leave light lips lives look lost meet memory mind morn move nature never night once pain pass past peace POEMS pure race range rest Ring rise round sewed Shadow shore sing sleep song sorrow soul sound speak spirit Spring star strange summer sweet tears tell thee thine things thou thought thousand thro touch true trust truth unto voice volume whisper wild wind wood wrought
82 psl. - Thou makest thine appeal to me: I bring to life, I bring to death; The spirit does but mean the breath: I know no more.
80 psl. - The wish, that of the living whole No life may fail beyond the grave, Derives it not from what we have The likest God within the soul? Are God and Nature then at strife, That Nature lends such evil dreams? So careful of the type she seems, So careless of the single life...
163 psl. - Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, The flying cloud, the frosty light: The year is dying in the night; Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. Ring out the old, ring in the new, Ring, happy bells, across the snow: The year is going, let him go; Ring out the false, ring in the true.
69 psl. - THE baby new to earth and sky, What time his tender palm is prest Against the circle of the breast, Has never thought that " this is I :" But as he grows he gathers much, And learns the use of "I," and "me," And finds "I am not what I see, And other than the things I touch.
7 psl. - Thou seemest human and divine, The highest, holiest manhood, thou : Our wills are ours, we know not how Our wills are ours, to make them thine.
11 psl. - A hand that can be clasp'd no more Behold me, for I cannot sleep, And like a guilty thing I creep At earliest morning to the door. He is not here; but far away The noise of life begins again, And ghastly thro' the drizzling rain On the bald street breaks the blank day.
211 psl. - Whereof the man, that with me trod This planet, was a noble type Appearing ere the times were ripe, That friend of mine who lives in God, That God, which ever lives and loves, One God, one law, one element, And one far-off divine event, To which the whole creation moves.
53 psl. - HER eyes are homes of silent prayer, Nor other thought her mind admits But, he was dead, and there he sits, And he that brought him back is there. Then one deep love doth supersede All other, when her ardent gaze Roves from the living brother's face, And rests upon the Life indeed. All subtle thought, all curious fears, Borne down by gladness so complete, She bows, she bathes the Saviour's feet With costly spikenard and with tears.
78 psl. - That not a worm is cloven in vain ; That not a moth with vain desire Is shrivel'd in a. fruitless fire, Or but subserves another's gain. Behold, we know not anything ; I can but trust that good shall fall At last far off at last, to all, And every winter change to spring.
71 psl. - That each, who seems a separate whole, Should move his rounds, and fusing all The skirts of self again, should fall Remerging in the general Soul, Is faith as vague as all unsweet. Eternal form shall still divide The eternal soul from all beside; And I shall know him when we meet; And we shall sit at endless feast, Enjoying each the other's good.