The World's Best Poetry ...

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J. D. Morris, 1904
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Página 237 - When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's •waste...
Página lxiv - I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day, I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away, And turning from my nursery window, drew A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu ! But was it such ? It was. Where thou art gone Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown: May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, The parting word shall pass my lips no more ! Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my concern, Oft gave me promise of thy quick return.
Página lxvi - My boast is not that I deduce my birth From loins enthroned, and rulers of the earth; But higher far my proud pretensions rise, — The son of parents passed into the skies.
Página lix - My stockings there I often knit, My kerchief there I hem ; And there upon the ground I sit, And sing a song to them. " And often after sunset, sir, When it is light and fair, I take my little porringer, And eat my supper there. " The first that died was little Jane ; In bed she moaning lay.
Página 243 - 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.
Página 10 - When but an idle boy, I sought its grateful shade; In all their gushing joy Here, too, my sisters played. My mother kissed me here; My father pressed my hand — Forgive this foolish tear, But let that old oak stand.
Página lxvii - I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER I REMEMBER, I remember The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn ; He never came a wink too soon, Nor brought too long a day, But now I often wish the night Had borne my breath away ! I remember, I remember...
Página 204 - Compared with this, how poor religion's pride, In all the pomp of method and of art, When men display to congregations wide Devotion's every grace...
Página lxiii - I see, The same that oft in childhood solaced me ; Voice only fails, else how distinct they say, " Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away...
Página 163 - Come, read to me some poem, Some simple and heartfelt lay, That shall soothe this restless feeling And banish the thoughts of day. Not from the grand old masters...

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