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THIS sunlight shames November where he grieves In dead red leaves, and will not let him shun The day, though bough with bough be over-run; But with a blessing every glade receives

High salutation; while from hillock-eaves

The deer gaze calling, dappled white and dun,
As if, being foresters of old, the sun

Had marked them with the shade of forest-leaves.
Here dawn to-day unveil'd her magic glass;

Here noon now gives the thirst and takes the dew;
Till eve bring rest when other good things pass.
And here the lost hours the lost hours renew
While I still lead my shadow o'er the grass,
Nor know, for longing, that which I should do.

D. G. Rossetti.




Is thine hour come to wake, O slumbering Night?
Hath not the Dawn a message in thine ear?

Though thou be stone and sleep, yet shalt thou hear When the word falls from heaven-Let there be Light. Thou knowest we would not do thee the despite

To wake thee while the old sorrow and shame were near;
We spake not loud for thy sake, and for fear

Lest thou should'st lose the rest that was thy right,
The blessing given thee that was thine alone,
The happiness to sleep and to be stone.

Yea, we kept silence of thee for thy sake,
Albeit we knew thee alive, and left with thee
The great good gift to feel not nor to see;

But will not yet thine Angel bid thee wake?

A. C. Swinburne.



ONCE did she hold the gorgeous East in fee,
And was the safeguard of the West: the worth
Of Venice did not fall below her birth-
Venice, the eldest child of Liberty!
She was a maiden city, bright and free;
No guile seduced, no force could violate;
And, when she took unto herself a mate,
She must espouse the everlasting sea.
And what if she had seen those glories fade,
Those titles vanish, and that strength decay;
Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid
When her long life hath reached its final day:
Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade
Of that which once was great is passed away.

W. Wordsworth.




THEN in a room he stood wherein there was
A marble bath, whose brimming water yet
Was scarcely still; a vessel of green glass
Half full of odorous ointment was there set
Upon the topmost step that still was wet,
And jewelled shoes and women's dainty gear,
Lay cast upon the varied pavement near.

In one quick glance these things his eyes did see,
But speedily they turned round to behold
Another sight, for throned on ivory

There sat a girl, whose dripping tresses rolled
On to the floor in waves of gleaming gold,
Cast back from such a form as, erewhile shown
To one poor shepherd, lighted up Troy town.

Naked she was, the kisses of her feet
Upon the floor a dying path had made
From the full bath unto her ivory seat;
In her right hand, upon her bosom laid,
She held a golden comb, a mirror weighed
Her left hand down, aback her fair head lay
Dreaming awake of some long-vanished day.

Her eyes were shut, but she seemed not to sleep,
Her lips were murmuring things unheard and low,
Or sometimes twitched as though she needs must weep
Though from her eyes the tears refused to flow;
And oft with heavenly red her cheek did glow,
As if remembrance of some half-sweet shame
Across the web of many memories came.

William Morris.


My goblet's golden lips are dry,
And, as the rose doth pine
For dew, so doth for wine
My goblet's cup;

Rain, O! rain, or it will die;
Rain, fill it up!

Arise, and get thee wings to-night,
Etna! and let run o'er

Thy wines, a hill no more,

But darkly frown

A cloud, where eagles dare not soar,
Dropping rain down!

T. L. Beddoes.

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