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American literary society, 1901
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Sommario

18111896
10315
16091642
10344
18041859
10363

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Pagina 10510 - SUNSET and evening star, And one clear call for me ! And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea.
Pagina 10503 - Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die : Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon in front of them...
Pagina 10506 - There has fallen a splendid tear From the passion-flower at the gate. She is coming, my dove, my dear ; She is coming, my life, my fate ; The red rose cries, ' She is near, she is near ' ; And the white rose weeps, ' She is late ' ; The larkspur listens, * I hear, I hear ' ; And the lily whispers,
Pagina 10271 - REQUIEM UNDER the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie. Glad did I live and gladly die, And I laid me down with a will. This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be ; Home is the sailor, home from sea, And the hunter home from the hill.
Pagina 10499 - Comfort ? comfort scorned of devils ! this is truth the poet sings, That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things.
Pagina 10504 - Came through the jaws of Death Back from the mouth of Hell, All that was left of them, Left of six hundred.
Pagina 10591 - To thee belongs the rural reign; Thy cities shall with commerce shine; All thine shall be the subject main, And every shore it circles, thine. Rule...
Pagina 10508 - To reverence the King, as if he were Their conscience, and their conscience as their King, To break the heathen and uphold the Christ, To ride abroad redressing human wrongs, To speak no slander, no, nor listen to it, To...
Pagina 10394 - And in green underwood and cover Blossom by blossom the spring begins. The full streams feed on flower of rushes, Ripe grasses trammel a travelling foot, The faint fresh flame of the young year flushes From leaf to flower and flower to fruit; And fruit and leaf are as gold and fire, And the oat is heard above the lyre, And the hoofed heel of a satyr crushes The chestnut-husk at the chestnut-root.
Pagina 10395 - If love were what the rose is, And I were like the leaf. If I were what the words are, And love were like the tune, With double sound and single Delight our lips would mingle, With kisses glad as birds are That get sweet rain at noon ; If I were what the words are And love were like the tune.

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