Old-world Idylls and Other Verses

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Kegan Paul, Trench, 1883 - 245 psl.

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236 psl. - ... his saints and his gilded stern-frames He had thought like an egg-shell to crack us ; .Now Howard may get to his Flaccus, And Drake to his Devon again, And Hawkins bowl rubbers to Bacchus — For where are the galleons of Spain ? Let his Majesty hang to St. James The axe that he whetted to hack us ; He must play at some lustier games Or at sea he can hope to out-thwack us ; To his mines of Peru he would pack us To tug at his bullet and chain ; Alas ! that his Greatness should lack -us ! — But...
214 psl. - Love comes back to his vacant dwelling — The old, old Love that we knew of yore ! We see him stand by the open door, With his great eyes sad, and his bosom swelling. " He makes as though in our arms repelling He fain would lie, as he lay before ; Love comes back to his vacant dwelling...
6 psl. - My Dear, I don't think that I thought of much Before we knew each other, I and you ; And now, why, John, your least, least Finger-touch Gives me enough to think a Summer through. See, for I send you something ! There...
161 psl. - Only the tremulous Words of a child ; — Prattle, that has for stops Just a few ruddy drops. Look. She is sad to miss, Morning and night, His — her dead father's — kiss ; Tries to be bright, Good to mamma, and sweet. That is all.
219 psl. - WITH pipe and flute the rustic Pan Of old made music sweet for man ; And wonder hushed the warbling bird, And closer drew the calm-eyed herd, — The rolling river slowlier ran. Ah ! would, — ah ! would, a little span, Some air of Arcady could fan This age of ours, too seldom stirred With pipe and flute...
158 psl. - He is weary ! He shall rest for, at least, To-night ! " But at dawn, when the birds were waking, As they watched in the silent room, With the sound of a strained cord breaking, A something snapped in the gloom. 'Twas...
79 psl. - Merry and tragical ! tedious and brief ! That is, hot ice and wondrous strange snow. How shall we find the concord of this discord ? Phil. A play there is, my lord, some ten words long Which, is as brief as I have known a play ; But by ten words, my lord, it is too long, Which makes...
184 psl. - To feel delight of living, and to plough The salt-blown acres of the shoreless deep; — Better, — yea better far all these than bow Foul faces to foul earth, and yearn — as we do now ! " So they in speech unsyllabled. But She, The fair-tressed Goddess, born to be their bane, Uplifting straight her wand of ivory, Compelled them groaning to the styes again; Where they in hopeless bitterness were fain To rend the oaken woodwork as before, And tear the troughs in impotence of pain, — Not knowing,...
6 psl. - This was the matter of the note, — A long-forgot deposit, Dropped in an Indian dragon's throat, Deep in a fragrant closet, Piled with a dapper Dresden world, — Beaux, beauties, prayers, and poses, — Bonzes with squat legs undercurled, And great jars filled with roses. Ah, heart that wrote ! Ah, lips that kissed ! You had no thought or presage Into what keeping you dismissed Your simple old-world message ! A reverent one.
239 psl. - There is place and enough for the pains of prose; — • But whenever a scent from the whitethorn blows, And the jasmine-stars to the casement climb, And a Rosalind-face at the lattice shows, Then hey!

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