Poems, by E.B. Barrett, Volume 2 |
Common terms and phrases
adown angels art thou beneath beside birds sang east blessed blush breath bridal train bride brow brown rosary calm cheek child cloud cold crown dark dead dear death deep doth dream dreamlight drop dropt earth evermore eyes face fair Faunus flowers gaze GEORGE SAND glory God's goeth grave hand harken hath head hear heard heart heaven hills holy kiss knee lady laugh light lips little birds sang look lover moan mother neath night noble nosegay o'er Onora in sleep pale poet praise pray prayer purple ride river floweth rose rose-tree round sate scorn second sight shadow shining sigh silence singing smile softly song soul sound spake speak spirits stand stars steed stood sweet tears thee thine thought thrush Toll slowly trees twixt unto voice vow to thee ween weep wind word young
Popular passages
Page 83 - And the first time I will send A white rosebud for a guerdon, And the second time a glove ; But the third time — I may bend From my pride, and answer — 'Pardon If he comes to take my love.
Page 144 - Alas, alas, the children ! they are seeking Death in life, as best to have: They are binding up their hearts away from breaking, With a cerement from the grave. Go out, children, from the mine and from the city, Sing out, children, as the little thrushes do; Pluck your handfuls of the meadow-cowslips pretty. Laugh aloud, to feel your fingers let them through ! But they answer, ' Are your cowslips of the meadows Like our weeds anear the mine ? Leave us quiet in the dark of the coal-shadows, From your...
Page 147 - ... is stirred? When we sob aloud, the human creatures near us Pass by, hearing not, or answer not a word. And we hear not (for the wheels in their resounding) Strangers speaking at the door; Is it likely God, with angels singing round him, Hears our weeping any more ? "Two words, indeed, of praying we remember. And at midnight's hour of harm, 'Our Father,' looking upward in the chamber, We say softly for a charm. We know no other words except 'Our Father...
Page 142 - Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers, Ere the sorrow comes with years? They are leaning their young heads against their mothers, And that cannot stop their tears. The young lambs are bleating in the meadows, The young birds are chirping in the nest, The young fawns are playing with the shadows, The young flowers are blowing towards the west — But the young, young children, O my brothers, They are weeping bitterly! They are weeping in the playtime of the others, in the country of the free.
Page 277 - She thinketh of her song, upon the whole, Far more than of her flax ; and yet the reel Is full, and artfully her fingers feel With quick adjustment, provident control, The lines, too subtly twisted to unroll, Out to a perfect thread. I hence appeal To the dear Christian Church — that...
Page 125 - now throbbing through me! are ye eyes that did undo me ? Shining eyes, like antique jewels set in Parian statuestone ! Underneath that calm white forehead, are ye ever burning torrid O'er the desolate sand-desert of my heart and life undone...
Page 84 - That swan's nest among the reeds.' xv. Little Ellie, with her smile Not yet ended, rose up gaily, Tied the bonnet, donned the shoe, And went homeward, round a mile, Just to see, as she did daily, What more eggs were with the two. Pushing through the elm-tree copse, Winding up the stream, light-hearted, Where the osier pathway leads — Past the boughs she stoops — and stops. Lo, the wild swan had deserted — And a rat had gnawed the reeds XVII.
Page 109 - Tuscan flutes, or instruments more various of our own ; Read the pastoral parts of Spenser — or the subtle interflowings Found in Petrarch's sonnets — here's the book — the leaf is folded down! — Or at times a modern volume, — Wordsworth's solemnthoughted idyl, Howitt's ballad-verse, or Tennyson's enchanted reverie, — Or from Browning some 'Pomegranate...
Page 269 - Aches round you like a strong disease and new — What hope ? what help ? what music will undo That silence to your sense ? Not friendship's sigh — Not reason's subtle count ! Not melody Of viols, nor of pipes that Faunus blew — Not songs of poets, nor of nightingales, Whose hearts leap upward through the cypress trees To the clear moon ; nor yet the spheric laws Self-chanted, — nor the angels' sweet All hails, Met in the smile of God.
Page 145 - For all day the wheels are droning, turning; Their wind comes in our faces, Till our hearts turn, our heads with pulses burning, And the walls turn in their places: Turns the sky in the high window, blank and reeling, Turns the long light that drops adown the wall, Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceiling: All are turning, all the day, and we with all.