The Gallery of Pigeons: And Other Poems

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Henry S. King, 1873 - 198 páginas
 

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Página 159 - TRAGEDY SHE was only a woman, famished for loving, Mad with devotion, and such slight things; And he was a very great musician, And used to finger his fiddle-strings. Her heart's sweet gamut is cracking and breaking For a look, for a touch, — for such slight things; But he's such a very great musician Grimacing and fingering his fiddle-strings.
Página 165 - All beck'd and made their bows. Scarlet of the poppy, Yellow of the corn, The men were at the garnering, A-shouting in the morn ; I chased her to a pippin-tree, — The waking birds all whist, — And oh ! it was the sweetest kiss That I have ever kiss'd. Marjorie, mint, and violets A-drying round us set, 'Twas all done in the faience-room A-spicing marmalet ; On one tile was a satyr, On one a nymph at bay, Methinks the birds will scarce be home To wake our wedding-day...
Página 156 - My little love, my lily wan, Of life so weary, weep on me ! Come lay your head, and on, and on, I'll ripple low love- tales to thee! In calm white moonlight sleeps the swan, The reeds are wooing the willow-tree; Asleep and dreaming, on, and on, I'll drift you into the endless sea ! And I was a full-leaved, full-bough'd tree, Tranquil and trembling, and deep in the night, And tall and still, down the garden-ways She moved in the liquid calm moonlight. Her moon-shot eyes, strain'd back with grief,...
Página 163 - SONG. THERE'S one great bunch of stars in heaven That shines so sturdily, Where good Saint Peter's sinewy hand Holds up the dull gold-wroughten key. There's eke a little twinkling gem As green as beryl-blue can be, The lowest bead the Blessed Virgin Shakes a-telling her rosary. There's one that flashes flames and fire, No doubt the mighty rubicel That sparkles from the center point I' the buckler of stout Raphael.
Página 158 - ... And oh ! it was the sweetest kiss That I have ever kiss'd Marjorie, mint, and violets A-drying round us set, 'Twas all done in the faience-room A-spicing marmalet; On one tile was a satyr, On one a nymph at bay, Methinks the birds will scarce be home To wake our wedding-day! SONG I dream'd I was in Sicily, All sky and hills and flowers ; We sat us under a citron tree And courted, hours and hours. I woke by the dunes of a bleak north-land, Along a lonely grave in the snow ; The salt wind rattled...
Página 164 - In cherry symphonies. Whiteness of the white rose, Redness of the red, She went to cut the blush-rose buds To tie at the altar-head; And some she laid in her bosom, And some around her brows, And, as she passed, the lily-heads All becked and made their bows.
Página 89 - Ugh! and I knew! Ugh! So what do I care, And my head is as empty as air — I can do, I can dare, (Plop, plop, The barges flop Drip, drop.) I can dare, I can dare ! And let myself all run away with my head, And stop. Drop Dead. Plop, flop. Plop.
Página 148 - she sung ; Then lustily : " Sweet Death, the comforter! " It chanced that Love, the garden slopes among, Came like the palmer, Death, and look'd at her. The lady swoon'd amid her stiff brocades, And wept amain, though Love laugh'd low and sweet. She call'd on Love, but Love with rapid feet Pass'd...
Página 164 - A PASTORAL FLOWER of the medlar, Crimson of the quince, I saw her at the blossom-time, And loved her ever since! She swept the draughty pleasance, The blooms had left the trees, The whilst the birds sang canticles, In cherry symphonies.
Página 167 - If angels love above in heaven, Then death must be too oversweet, For this dear love thy lips have given, Has made this life, .my love, replete.

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