A Book of Remembrance, Being Lyrical Selections for Everyday in the Year |
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Page 17
... hear along our street I heard a voice that cried · - - Dec. 26 · - Sept. April 21 I · July · - · - 17 May 6 Feb. 20 - July 18 30 - April 30 - July 19 - Jan. - Aug. - Sept. July March 23 - 5 17 4 - Nov. 19 Dec. 19 July 15 May II March 12 ...
... hear along our street I heard a voice that cried · - - Dec. 26 · - Sept. April 21 I · July · - · - 17 May 6 Feb. 20 - July 18 30 - April 30 - July 19 - Jan. - Aug. - Sept. July March 23 - 5 17 4 - Nov. 19 Dec. 19 July 15 May II March 12 ...
Page 21
... hear at morn The gauger walked with willing foot The grey mornings I well remember The jester walked in the garden The loss , if loss there be , is mine - The moon is up , and yet it is not night The night was winter in its roughest ...
... hear at morn The gauger walked with willing foot The grey mornings I well remember The jester walked in the garden The loss , if loss there be , is mine - The moon is up , and yet it is not night The night was winter in its roughest ...
Page 7
... hear the glad streams run ; The windows of my soul I throw Wide open to the sun . No longer forward nor behind I look in hope or fear : But grateful take the good I find , The best of now and here . The airs of spring may never play ...
... hear the glad streams run ; The windows of my soul I throw Wide open to the sun . No longer forward nor behind I look in hope or fear : But grateful take the good I find , The best of now and here . The airs of spring may never play ...
Page 45
... hears across cold streams , Dead mouths of many dreams that sing and sigh . Face fallen and white throat lifted With sleepless eye , She sees old loves that drifted , She knew not why , Old loves and faded fears Float down a stream that ...
... hears across cold streams , Dead mouths of many dreams that sing and sigh . Face fallen and white throat lifted With sleepless eye , She sees old loves that drifted , She knew not why , Old loves and faded fears Float down a stream that ...
Page 59
... hear the Luggie flow , And frugal bees , laboriously humming . Now the east wind diseases the infirm , And I must crouch in corners from rough weather ; Sometimes the winter sunset is a charm --- When the fired clouds , compacted ...
... hear the Luggie flow , And frugal bees , laboriously humming . Now the east wind diseases the infirm , And I must crouch in corners from rough weather ; Sometimes the winter sunset is a charm --- When the fired clouds , compacted ...
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?