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Romances, Lyrics, and Sonnets: From the Poetic Works of Elizabeth Barrett ...
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sin vista previa disponible - 2017
Romances, Lyrics, and Sonnets from the Poetic Works of Elizabeth Barrett ...
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sin vista previa disponible - 2016
Adonis angels answer beauty beloved beside bless blood breath calm child close cold crowned dark dear death deep died door dream drop earth eyes face fair fall feel flowers God's gods gold golden grave grow hand head hear heard heart heaven hills hope hour human Italy keep kiss knee lady light Lily lips live look Lord lost mother mouth never night North pale Pan is dead pass pitiful poet praise pray pure rest ride river rose round seen shining sigh silence sing sleep smile soft song soul sound South speak spirit stand steed stood strong sweet Sweetest eyes tears tender thee thine things thou thought Toll slowly trees true turned voice weep wild wind young
Página 79 - 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.
Página 80 - Do you question the young children in the sorrow, Why their tears are falling so? The old man may weep for his to-morrow Which is lost in Long Ago ; The old tree is leafless in the forest, The old year is ending in the frost, The old wound, if stricken, is the sorest, The old hope is hardest to be lost.
Página 86 - Father,' looking upward in the chamber, We say softly for a charm. We know no other words except 'Our Father,' And we think that, in some pause of angels' song, God may pluck them with the silence sweet to gather, And hold both within His right hand which is strong. 'Our Father!' If He heard us, He would surely (For they call Him good and mild) Answer, smiling down the steep world very purely, 'Come and rest with me, my child.
Página 159 - THERE is no God," the foolish saith, — But none, "There is no sorrow;" And nature oft, the cry of faith, In bitter need will borrow : Eyes, which the preacher could not school, By wayside graves are raised ; And lips say, " God be pitiful," Who ne'er said,
Página 85 - Who is God that He should hear us, While the rushing of the iron wheels is stirred ? When we sob aloud, the human creatures near us Pass by, hearing not, or answer not a word ! And...
Página 143 - How he drove the bolted breath Through the cloud, to wedge it ponderous In the gnarled oak beneath ! Oh, our Sophocles, the royal, Who was born to monarch's place And who made the whole world loyal, Less by kingly power than grace ! Our Euripides, the human, With his droppings of warm tears, And his touches of things common Till they rose to touch the spheres...
Página 80 - THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN 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 toward the west: But the young, young children, O my brothers! They are weeping bitterly. They are weeping in the playtime of the others, In...
Página 35 - Oh, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west, Toll slowly . And I said in underbreath, — all our life is mixed with death, — And who knoweth which is best ? Oh, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west, — Toll slowly . And I smiled to think God's greatness flowed around our incompleteness, — Round our restlessness, His rest.
Página 58 - Like a lady's ringlets brown, Flow thy silken ears adown Either side demurely Of thy silver-suited breast Shining out from all the rest Of thy body purely. Darkly brown thy body is, Till the sunshine striking this Alchemise its dulness, When the sleek curls manifold Flash all over into gold With a burnished fulness.