Songs of Summer

Ticknor and Fields, 1857 - 229 sivua

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Sivu 5 - THERE are gains for all our losses, There are balms for all our pain: But when youth, the dream, departs, It takes something from our hearts, And it never comes again. We are stronger, and are better, Under manhood's sterner reign: Still we feel that something sweet Followed youth, with flying feet, And will never come again. Something beautiful is vanished, And we sigh for it in vain: We behold it everywhere, On the earth, and in the air, But it never comes again.
Sivu 15 - BIRDS. Birds are singing round my window, Tunes the sweetest ever heard, And I hang my cage there daily, But I never catch a bird. So with thoughts my brain is peopled, And they sing there all day long ; But they will not fold their pinions In the little cage of song ! THE SKY.
Sivu 10 - Wrapped in white, all in white, With her babe on her breast, Walks the mother so pale, Staring out on the gale, Through the night ! Through the night, through the night, Where the sea lifts the wreck, Land in sight, close in sight, On the surf-flooded deck, Stands the father so brave, Driving on to his grave Through the night! Richard Henry Stoddard [1825-1903] THE SANDS OF DEE...
Sivu 42 - On his snow-white steed so bold ; But he wore no guarding helmet, Only his long hair of gold. " Turn, and fly, thou rash young warrior, Or this iron helmet wear.
Sivu 175 - Not that fair field Of Enna, where Proserpine gathering flowers, Herself a fairer flower by gloomy Dis Was gathered, which cost Ceres all that pain To seek her through the world...
Sivu 18 - THE sky is a drinking-cup, That was overturned of old, And it pours in the eyes of men Its wine of airy gold. We drink that wine all day, Till the last drop is drained up, And are lighted off to bed By the jewels in the cup!
Sivu 13 - You may drink to your leman in gold. In a great golden goblet of wine; She's as ripe as the wine, and as bold As the glare of the gold: But this little lady of mine, 1 will not profane her in wine.
Sivu 45 - ATTLE the window, winds ! Rain, drip on the panes ! There are tears and sighs in our hearts and eyes, And a weary weight on our brains. The gray sea heaves and heaves, On the dreary flats of sand ; And the blasted limb of the churchyard yew, It shakes like a ghostly hand ! The dead are engulfed beneath it, Sunk in the grassy waves ; But we have more dead in our hearts to-day Than the earth in all her graves ! RICHARD HENRY STODDARD.
Sivu 14 - This little shell, when I am gone, Will whisper still of me." I kiss'd your hands, upon the sands, For you were kind to me ! I hold the shell against my ear, And hear its hollow roar : It speaks to me about the sea, But speaks of you no more. I pace the sands, and wring my hands, For you are kind no more ! BAYARD TAYLOR.
Sivu 120 - ... in torrents down the sky — What care I ? What cares any one in pain ? Are not tears still wrung from me ? Woe is me ! and all in vain ; Falling faster than the rain, In the sea ! But they would be over then, And I would no longer weep ; Grief is for the sea of men ; By God's ocean it must sleep ! Happy, happy would I be, By the margent of the sea ! Up and down the barren beaches ; Round the ragged belts of land ; In along the curving reaches ; Out along the horns of sand ; Over the ledges of...

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