PoemsH. S. King, 1876 - 212 páginas |
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Página 4
... hand - hollow dare to scoop This scantling from the delicate stream ; It lies as quiet as a dream , And lustrous in my curvčd hand . Were it a crime if this were drain'd By lips which met the noonday blue Fiery and emptied of its dew ...
... hand - hollow dare to scoop This scantling from the delicate stream ; It lies as quiet as a dream , And lustrous in my curvčd hand . Were it a crime if this were drain'd By lips which met the noonday blue Fiery and emptied of its dew ...
Página 9
... hands , thy fallen hair . Nay , nay , I wrong thee with rough words ; still be Serene , victorious , inaccessible ; Still smile but speak not ; lightest irony Lurk ever ' neath thine eyelids ' shadow ; still O'ertop our knowledge ...
... hands , thy fallen hair . Nay , nay , I wrong thee with rough words ; still be Serene , victorious , inaccessible ; Still smile but speak not ; lightest irony Lurk ever ' neath thine eyelids ' shadow ; still O'ertop our knowledge ...
Página 18
... as a cinder in my breast , And with both hands I held my head which throbbed . I , who had sought for God , had followed God Through the fair world which stings with sharp desire For 18 " LA RÉVÉLATION PAR LE DÉSERT . ”
... as a cinder in my breast , And with both hands I held my head which throbbed . I , who had sought for God , had followed God Through the fair world which stings with sharp desire For 18 " LA RÉVÉLATION PAR LE DÉSERT . ”
Página 19
... hand on the rim , To rise with rain and thunder in its womb , And blot God out ! But no such cloud would come . I felt my brain on fire , heard each pulse tick ; It was a God to make a man stark mad ; I rose with neck out - thrust , and ...
... hand on the rim , To rise with rain and thunder in its womb , And blot God out ! But no such cloud would come . I felt my brain on fire , heard each pulse tick ; It was a God to make a man stark mad ; I rose with neck out - thrust , and ...
Página 23
... hands plucked at my dress , what light wings brushed My face , what waters in my hearing seethed , I know not , till I reached familiar lands , And saw grey clouds slow gathering for the night , Above sweet fields , whence the June ...
... hands plucked at my dress , what light wings brushed My face , what waters in my hearing seethed , I know not , till I reached familiar lands , And saw grey clouds slow gathering for the night , Above sweet fields , whence the June ...
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