Lyrical Poems

Priekinis viršelis
Macmillan and Company, 1885 - 270 psl.
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208 psl. - Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon in front of them Volley'd and thunder'd ; Storm'd at with shot and shell, Boldly they rode and well : Into the jaws of Death, Into the mouth of Hell Rode the six hundred.
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.
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.
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.
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 goBut in my spirit will I dwell, And dream my dream, and hold it true ; For tho' my lips may breathe adieu, I cannot think the thing farewell.
31 psl. - ill be the happiest time of all the glad New-year: To-morrow 'ill be of all the year the maddest merriest day, For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o
160 psl. - He cometh not,' she said ; She said, ' I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead...
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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