Lyrical Poems

Priekinis viršelis
Macmillan and Company, 1885 - 270 psl.
 

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157 psl. - Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy Autumn-fields, And thinking of the days that are no more.
227 psl. - THERE rolls the deep where grew the tree. O earth, what changes hast thou seen ! There where the long street roars, hath been The stillness of the central sea. The hills are shadows, and they flow From form to form, and nothing stands ; They melt like mist, the solid lands, Like clouds they shape themselves and go.
145 psl. - What does little birdie say In her nest at peep of day ? Let me fly, says little birdie, Mother, let me fly away. Birdie, rest a little longer, Till the little wings are stronger. So she rests a little longer, Then she flies away. What does little baby say, In her bed at peep of day ? Baby says, like little birdie, Let me rise and fly away.
103 psl. - I COME from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally, And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley. By thirty hills I hurry down, Or slip between the ridges, By twenty thorps, a little town, And half a hundred bridges.
103 psl. - The splendor falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story : The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
207 psl. - HALF a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. " Forward, the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns," he said: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.
150 psl. - The slender acacia would not shake One long milk-bloom on the tree ; The white lake-blossom fell into the lake, As the pimpernel dozed on the lea ; But the rose was awake all night for your sake, Knowing your promise to me : - The lilies and roses were all awake, They sigh'd for the dawn and thee.
230 psl. - 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...
158 psl. - In love, if love be love, if love be ours, Faith and unfaith can ne'er be equal powers : Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all. ' " It is the little rift within the lute, That by and by will make the music mute, And ever widening slowly silence all.

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