The unknown Eros. Amelia, etc. Poems by H. Patmore. Essay on English metrical law

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George Bell, 1890
 

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Pagina 216 - These are spots in your feasts of charity, when they feast with you, feeding themselves without fear : clouds they are without water, carried about of winds ; trees whose fruit withereth, without fruit, twice dead, plucked up by the roots ; Raging waves of the sea, foaming out their own shame ; wandering stars, to whom is reserved the blackness of darkness for ever.
Pagina 235 - The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark, When neither is attended ; and, I think The nightingale, if she should sing by day, When every goose is cackling, would be thought No better a musician than the wren.
Pagina 21 - My little Son, who look'd from thoughtful eyes And moved and spoke in quiet grown-up wise, Having my law the seventh time disobey'd, I struck him, and dismiss'd With hard words and unkiss'd, His Mother, who was patient, being dead. Then, fearing lest his grief should hinder sleep, I visited his bed, But found him slumbering deep, With darken'd eyelids, and their lashes yet From his late sobbing wet. And I, with moan, Kissing away his tears, left others of my own; For, on a table drawn beside his...
Pagina 18 - ... sombres a March grove. And it was like your great and gracious ways To turn your talk on daily things, my Dear, Lifting the luminous, pathetic lash To let the laughter flash, Whilst I drew near, Because you spoke so low that I could scarcely hear. But all at once to leave me at the last, More at the wonder than the loss aghast, With huddled, unintelligible phrase, And frighten'd eye, And go your journey of all days With not one kiss, or a good-bye, And the only loveless look the look with which...
Pagina 67 - Her little song so sweet! What is the chief news of the Night? Lo, iron and salt, heat, weight and light In every star that drifts on the great breeze! And these Mean Man, Darling of God, Whose thoughts but live and move Round him; Who woos his will To wedlock with His own, and does distil To that drop's span The atta of all rose-fields of all love!
Pagina 8 - Summer not yet seen. On every chance-mild day That visits the moist shaw, The honeysuckle, 'sdaining to be crost In urgence of sweet life by sleet or frost, 'Voids the time's law With still increase Of leaflet new, and little, wandering spray; Often, in sheltering brakes, As one from rest disturb'd in the first hour, Primrose or violet bewilder'd wakes, And deems 'tis time to flower; Though not a whisper of her voice he hear, The buried bulb does know The signals of the year, And hails far Summer...
Pagina 16 - God, and did not waken her, But lay, with eyes still closed, Perfectly bless'd in the delicious sphere By which I knew so well that she was near, My heart to speechless thankfulness composed. Till 'gan to stir A dizzy somewhat in my troubled head — It was the azalea's breath, and she -was dead ! The warm night had the lingering buds disclosed, And I had fall'n asleep with to my breast A chance-found letter press'd In which she said, " So, till to-morrow eve, my Own, adieu ! Parting's well-paid...
Pagina 17 - And frighten'd eye, Upon your journey of so many days, Without a single kiss, or a good-bye ? I knew, indeed, that you were parting soon ; And so we sate, within the low sun's rays, You whispering to me, for your voice was weak, Your harrowing praise.
Pagina 110 - ... And fevers my delight By frets, if, on Amelia's cheek of peach, I touch the notes which music cannot reach. Bidding " Good-night ! " Wherefore it came that, till to-day's dear date, I curs'd the weary months which yet I have to wait Ere I find heaven, one-nested with my mate. To-day, the Mother gave, To urgent pleas and promise to behave As she were there, her long-besought consent To trust Amelia with me to the grave Where lay my once-betrothed, Millicent :
Pagina 172 - vantage 'gainst the scorner, The two shy knees press'd shier to the corner; And Ben began to talk with her, the rather Because he found out that he knew her father, Sir Francis Applegarth, of Fenny Compton, And danced once with her sister Maude at Brompton; And then he stared until he quite confused her, More pleased with her than I, who but excused her; And, when she got out, he, with sheepish glances, Said he'd stop too, and call on old Sir Francis.

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