New PoemsA. Constable and Company, 1897 - 223 pages |
Autres éditions - Tout afficher
Expressions et termes fréquents
Agios Athanatos angels Anteros and Eros arms art thou beauty behold beneath bird bliss bosom breath chidden cloud COVENTRY PATMORE dark dead dear death deciduous delight didst divine doth drave dread dream earth Elenore eyes fair fear feel feet fire flesh flower gaze God's Goddès fay golden hair hand hath heart Heaven heavenly hell hieratic hill Icarian Ischyros jolly month kiss know'st Lady light little peace live look Love's lover lucent Luthany maid mighty million songs moon mortal mouth night nought o'er pain Paradise pass poet psalter rose round scud secret shadow shame sigh sight sing skies sore soul stars stir strange sweet sweetly tears tell Tellus Tenebrous thee thine things thou dost thou hast thought thunder thyself tongue tread twixt unto voice wake Wassail weeping wind wing woman Zeus
Fréquemment cités
Page 175 - TO A SNOWFLAKE WHAT heart could have thought you ? — Past our devisal (O filigree petal !) Fashioned so purely, Fragilely, surely, From what Paradisal Imagineless metal, Too costly for cost ? Who hammered you, wrought you. From argentine vapour ? — " God was my shaper. Passing surmisal, He hammered, He wrought me, From curled silver vapour, To lust of His mind : — Thou couldst not have thought me ! So purely, so palely, Tinily, surely, Mightily, frailly, Insculped and embossed, With His hammer...
Page 11 - All things by immortal power, Near or far, Hiddenly To each other linked are, That thou canst not stir a flower Without troubling of a star...
Page 190 - O nothing, in this corporal earth of man, That to the imminent heaven of his high soul Responds with color and with shadow, can Lack correlated greatness. If the scroll Where thoughts lie fast in spell of hieroglyph Be mighty through its mighty...
Page 153 - Should join our hands to pray to Thee? I used to think, before I knew, The prayer not said unless we do. And did Thy Mother at the night Kiss Thee, and fold the clothes in right ? And didst Thou feel quite good in bed, Kissed, and sweet, and thy prayers said? Thou canst not have forgotten all That it feels like to be small : And Thou know'st I cannot pray To Thee in my father's way — When Thou wast so little, say, Couldst Thou talk Thy Father's way? — So, a little Child, come down And hear a...
Page 116 - Andean height ? Where is the Naiad 'mid her sworded sedge ? The Nymph wan-glimmering by her wan fount's verge ? The Dryad at timid gaze by the wood-side ? The Oread jutting light On one up-strained sole from the rock-ledge ? The Nereid tip-toe on the scud o...
Page 74 - THE AFTER WOMAN DAUGHTER of the ancient Eve, We know the gifts ye gave — and give. Who knows the gifts which you shall give, Daughter of the newer Eve ? You, if my soul be augur, you...
Page 76 - fore the silver apocalypse, Fail, at the unsealing of your lips? When to love you is (O Christ's Spouse!) To love the beauty of His house; Then come the Isaian days; the old Shall dream; and our young men behold Vision — yea, the vision of Thabor-mount, Which none to other shall recount, Because in all men's hearts shall be The seeing and the prophecy. For ended is the Mystery Play, When Christ is life, and you the way; When Egypt's spoils are Israel's right, And Day fulfils the married arms of...
Page 119 - If with exultant tread Thou foot the Eastern sea, Or like a golden bee Sting the West to angry red, Thou dost image, thou dost follow That King-Maker of Creation, Who, ere Hellas hailed Apollo, Gave thee, angel-god, thy station ; Thou art of Him a type memorial. Like Him thou hang'st in dreadful pomp of blood Upon thy Western rood ; And His stained brow did vail like thine to night, Yet lift once more Its light, And, risen, again departed from our ball, But when It set on earth arose in Heaven. Thus...
Page 40 - ST. JOHN. CAST wide the folding doorways of the East, For now is light increased! And the wind-besomed chambers of the air, See they be garnished fair; And look the ways exhale some precious odours, And set ye all about wild-breathing spice, Most fit for Paradise! Now is no time for sober gravity, Season enough has Nature to be wise; But now...
Page 159 - tis I should be Her dead, a stringless harp on which she had no force Of my wild lot I thought; from place to place, Apollo's song-bowed Scythian, I go on; Making in all my home, with pliant ways, But, provident of change, putting forth root in none. Now, with starved brain, sick body, patience galled With fardels even to wincing; from fair sky Fell sudden little rain, scarce to be called A shower, which of the instant was gone wholly by. What cloud thus died I saw not; heaven was fair. Methinks...