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beauty beneath breast breath bright child cold comes dark dead dear death deep dream earth eyes face fair fall fear feel feet fell fire flowers followed give gleam glory golden green grow hair hand hath head hear heard heart heaven hope hour Italy Judas Iscariot King kiss land laugh leaves light lips living look Lord morning mother never night o'er once pale passed poems poet rain rest rose round seemed shadow sing sleep smile snow soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stand stars stood strong sweet tears thee thine things thou thought Till turn Twas verse voice volume wandered waves wild wind wings
6 psl. - THE STORY OF SIGURD THE VOLSUNG. and the Fall of the Niblungs.
286 psl. - For winter's rains and ruins are over, And all the season of snows and sins; The days dividing lover and lover, The light that loses, the night that wins; And time remembered is grief forgotten, And frosts are slain and flowers begotten, 30 And in green underwood and cover Blossom by blossom the spring begins.
19 psl. - THE HAYSTACK IN THE FLOODS HAD she come all the way for this, To part at last without a kiss? Yea, had she borne the dirt and rain That her own eyes might see him slain Beside the haystack in the floods?
33 psl. - Or hope again for aught that I can say, The idle singer of an empty day. But rather, when aweary of your mirth, From full hearts still unsatisfied ye sigh, And, feeling kindly unto all the earth, Grudge every minute as it passes by, Made the more mindful that the sweet days die, Remember me a little then, I pray, The idle singer of an empty day. The heavy trouble, the bewildering care That weighs us down who live and earn our bread...
10 psl. - THE ROOTS OF THE MOUNTAINS, wherein is told somewhat of the Lives of the Men of Burgdale, their Friends, their Neighbours, their Foemen, and their Fellows-in-Arms. Written in Prose and Verse. Square crown 8vo., 8s. A TALE OF THE HOUSE OF THE WOLFINGS, and all the Kindreds of the Mark.
298 psl. - ... riot In doubtful dreams of dreams ; I watch the green field growing For reaping folk and sowing, For harvest-time and mowing, A sleepy world of streams. I am tired of tears and laughter, And men that laugh and weep ; Of what may come hereafter For men that sow to reap : I am weary of days and hours, Blown buds of barren flowers, Desires and dreams and powers And everything but sleep.
70 psl. - Not one, not one, nor thousands must they slay, But one and all if they would dusk the day.
296 psl. - SWALLOW, my sister, O sister swallow, How can thine heart be full of the spring? A thousand summers are over and dead. What hast thou found in the spring to follow? What hast thou found in thine heart to sing? What wilt thou do when the summer is shed?
285 psl. - Over the splendour and speed of thy feet ; For the faint east quickens, the wan west shivers, Round the feet of the day and the feet of the night. Where shall we find her, how shall we sing to her, Fold our hands round her knees, and cling ? O that man's heart were as fire and could spring to her, Fire, or the strength of the streams that spring ! For the stars and the winds are unto her As raiment, as songs of the harp-player ; For the risen stars and the fallen cling to her, And the southwest-wind...