Selections from the Poetical Works of Richard Monckton Milnes, Lord Houghton

J. Murray, 1863 - 284 páginas

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Página 103 - I listened for a word, — But' the beating of my own heart Was all the sound I heard. He came not, — no, he came not, — The night came on alone, — The little stars sat, one by one, Each on his golden throne ; The evening air passed by my cheek, The leaves above were stirrM, — But' the beating of my own heart Was all the sound I heard.
Página 44 - A man's best things are nearest him, Lie close about his feet, It is the distant and the dim That we are sick to greet: For flowers that grow our hands beneath We struggle and aspire, — Our hearts must die, except they breathe The air of fresh desire.
Página 41 - A sense of an earnest will To help the lowly living, And a terrible heart.thrill If you have no power of giving ; — An arm of aid to the weak ; — A friendly hand to the friendless ; — Kind words so short to speak, But whose echo is endless — The world is wide ; these things are small ; They may be nothing, but they are all.
Página 102 - THE BROOK-SIDE. I WANDERED by the brook-side, I wandered by the mill,— I could not hear the brook flow, The noisy wheel was still ; There was no burr of grasshopper, No chirp of any bird, But the beating of my own heart Was all the sound I heard. I sat beneath the elm-tree, I watched the long, long, shade, And as it grew still longer, I did not feel afraid ; For I listened for a footfall, I listened for a word, — But...
Página 181 - Or may I woo thee In earlier Sicilian ? or thy smiles Seek as they once were sought, in Grecian isles, By bards who died content on pleasant sward, Leaving great verse unto a little clan ? O, give me their old vigour, and unheard Save of the quiet Primrose, and the span Of heaven and few ears, Rounded by thee, my song should die away Content as theirs, Rich in the simple worship of a day.
Página 79 - mid this long tumultuous scene, The image on our mind Of these dear women rests serene In happy bounds confined. Within one undisturbed abode Their presence seems to dwell, From which continual pleasures flowed, And countless graces fell ; Not unbecoming this our age Of decorative forms, Yet simple as the hermitage Exposed to Nature's storms. Our English grandeur on the shelf Deposed its decent gloom, And every pride unloosed itself Within that modest room ; Where none were sad, and few were dull,...
Página 52 - BELIEVE not that your inner eye Can ever in just measure try The worth of hours as they go by ; For every man's weak self, alas ! Makes him to see them while they pass As through a dim or tinted glass...
Página 53 - So should we live, that every hour May die as dies the natural flower — A self-reviving thing of power ; That every thought and every deed May hold within itself the seed Of future good and future meed ; Esteeming sorrow, whose employ Is to develop, not destroy, Far better than a barren joy.
Página 119 - By whom the saving message came, Believers meet together here, And hold these precincts very dear. The floor is spread with matting neat, Unstained by touch of shodden feet — A decent and delightful seat ! Where, after due devotions paid, And legal ordinance obeyed, Men may in happy parlance join, And gay with serious thought combine ; May ask the news from lands away, May fix the business of to-day ; Or, with " God willing," at the close, To-morrow's hopes and deeds dispose.
Página 34 - Follow yon majestic train Down the slopes of old renown, Knightly forms without disdain, Sainted heads without a frown ; Emperors of thought and hand Congregate, a glorious show, Met from every age and land In the plains of Long-ago. As the heart of childhood brings Something of eternal joy, From its own unsounded springs, Such as life can scarce destroy : So, remindful of the prime, Spirits, wand'ring to and fro, Rest upon the resting time In the peace of Long-ago.

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