A Book of Remembrance, Being Lyrical Selections for Everyday in the Year |
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Page 27
... face And oh the joy that is never won And so farewell , days of my youth And was the day of our delight And weep not though the Beautiful decay Angels thy old friends there shall greet thee Announced by all the trumpets of the sky Are ...
... face And oh the joy that is never won And so farewell , days of my youth And was the day of our delight And weep not though the Beautiful decay Angels thy old friends there shall greet thee Announced by all the trumpets of the sky Are ...
Page 16
... face , whom all men know By her sad mien , and eyes for ever wet . No heart would seek her , but once having met , All take her hand and to and fro They wander through those paths of long ago , Those hallowed ways ' twere wiser to ...
... face , whom all men know By her sad mien , and eyes for ever wet . No heart would seek her , but once having met , All take her hand and to and fro They wander through those paths of long ago , Those hallowed ways ' twere wiser to ...
Page 22
... face looked one way like a moon new - lit , Each face looked one way towards its Sun of Love , Drank Love and bathed in Love and mirrored it , And knew no end thereof . Glory touched glory on each blessed head , Hand locked 22 JANUARY ...
... face looked one way like a moon new - lit , Each face looked one way towards its Sun of Love , Drank Love and bathed in Love and mirrored it , And knew no end thereof . Glory touched glory on each blessed head , Hand locked 22 JANUARY ...
Page 28
... face I know indeed- The dead face on the rood , The dear face , kind and good ? Oh , safe for evermore , With never a weird to dree : Is any burden sore When one's beloved goes free ? Come pain , come woe to me , My well - beloved goes ...
... face I know indeed- The dead face on the rood , The dear face , kind and good ? Oh , safe for evermore , With never a weird to dree : Is any burden sore When one's beloved goes free ? Come pain , come woe to me , My well - beloved goes ...
Page 34
... face ? You cannot miss that inn . Shall I meet other wayfarers at night ? Those who have gone before . Then must I knock or call when just in sight ? They will not keep you standing at the door . Shall I find comfort , travel - sore and ...
... face ? You cannot miss that inn . Shall I meet other wayfarers at night ? Those who have gone before . Then must I knock or call when just in sight ? They will not keep you standing at the door . Shall I find comfort , travel - sore and ...
Other editions - View all
A Book of Remembrance: Being Lyrical Selections for Everyday in the Year ... Elizabeth Godfrey No preview available - 2015 |
A Book of Remembrance: Being Lyrical Selections for Everyday in the Year ... Elizabeth Godfrey No preview available - 2018 |
Common terms and phrases
A. E. Housman Alfred Tennyson Anon April autumn beauty beneath birds blow breath bright CHRISTINA ROSSETTI clouds cold dark dead dear death delight dost doth dream earth Edward Cracroft Lefroy eternal eyes fair fear feet flowers glory golden green grey happy hast hath hear heart heaven hill John JOHN KEBLE July June Katharine Tynan-Hinkson light live LONGFELLOW look Lord Love's March merry morning never night o'er pain peace Percy Bysshe Shelley Philip Bourke Marston Poems RICHARD Robert Bridges ROBERT HERRICK rose ROSSETTI sail Sept SHAKESPEARE SHELLEY silence sing skies sleep smile snow song sorrow soul SPENSER spirit spring stars sweet tears thee thine things Thomas Lovell Beddoes thought trees unto voice W. B. Yeats walk waves weary wild William William Wordsworth wind wings winter woods WORDSWORTH
Popular passages
Page 291 - He that is down needs fear no fall; He that is low, no pride. He that is humble, ever shall Have God to be his guide.
Page 98 - THE splendor falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story; The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
Page 213 - When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste...
Page 86 - OH yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill, To pangs of nature, sins of will, Defects of doubt, and taints of blood; That nothing walks with aimless feet; That not one life shall be destroy'd, Or cast as rubbish to the void, When God hath made the pile complete...
Page 15 - Alas! they had been friends in youth; But whispering tongues can poison truth ; And constancy lives in realms above ; And life is thorny ; and youth is vain ; And to be wroth with one we love, Doth work like madness in the brain.
Page 374 - It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make man better be; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log, at last, dry, bald, and sere: A lily of a day, Is fairer far, in May, Although it fall, and die that night; It was the plant, and flower of light. In small proportions, we just beauties see: And in short measures, life may perfect be.
Page 121 - What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain? What fields, or waves, or mountains? What shapes of sky or plain? What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain? With thy clear keen joyance Languor cannot be: Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee: Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.
Page 316 - O thou, Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low, Each like a corpse within its grave, until Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill (Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) With living hues and odours plain and hill: Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere; Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh, hear!
Page 9 - I HELD it truth, with him who sings To one clear harp in divers tones, That men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things.
Page 314 - With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies : How silently ; and with how wan a face ! What ! may it be, that even in heavenly place That busy Archer his sharp arrows tries?