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DIE DOWN, O DISMAL DAY! DIE down, O dismal day, and let me live ; And come, blue deeps, magnificently strewn With colored clouds,-large, light, and fugitive,By upper winds through pompous motions blown. Now it is death in life, -a vapor dense Creeps round my window, till I cannot see The far snow-shining mountains, and the glens Shagging the mountain tops. O God! make free This barren shackled earth, so deadly cold, Breathe gently forth thy spring, till winter flies In rude amazement, fearful and yet bold, While she performs her customed charities; I weigh the loaded hours till life is bare, O God, for one clear day, a snowdrop, and sweet air!
Ah my heart is sore with sighing,
Ah! my heart is sore with sighing,
Waiting sad, dejected, weary,
DENIS FLORENCE MAC-CARTHY.
For winter's rains and ruins are over,
And all the season of snows and sins;
The light that loses, the night that wins;
Ah! my heart is pained with throbbing, And in green underwood and cover
Where, in laughing and in sobbing,
Ah! my heart, my heart is throbbing.
WHEN THE HOUNDS OF SPRING. WHEN the hounds of spring are on winter's traces, The mother of months in meadow or plain Fills the shadows and windy places
With lisp of leaves and ripple of rain; And the brown bright nightingale amorous Is half assuaged for Itylus,
For the Thracian ships and the foreign faces;
Come with bows bent and with emptying of quivers,
Maiden most perfect, lady of light,
With a noise of winds and many rivers,
Where shall we find her, how shall we sing to her,
Fire, or the strength of the streams that spring!
The full streams feed on flower of rushes,
Ripe grasses trammel a travelling foot,
The chestnut-husk at the chestnut-root.
And Pan by noon and Bacchus by night,
Fleeter of foot than the fleet-foot kid,
The ivy falls with the Bacchanal's hair
Over her eyebrows shading her eyes;
Her bright breast shortening into sighs;
ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE.
To the high hill's top;
Tax not the strength of their young hands
To increase your lands.
Pluck the violets blue,
Ah, pluck not a few!
Knowest thou what good thoughts from Heaven
the violet instils?
See, the birds together,
In this splendid weather,
Worship God (for he is God of birds as well as
Ah, come and woo the spring;
anon! List to the birds that sing;
And each feathered neighbor
Enters on his labor,
Sparrow, robin, redpole, finch, the linnet, and the
As the year advances,
Trees their naked branches
Clothe, and seek your pleasure in their green apparel.
Insect and wild beast
Keep no Lent, but feast;
Spring breathes upon the earth, and their joy 's increased,
And the rejoicing birds break forth in one loud carol.
Pluck the primroses; pluck the violets;
Sing their praises;
Friendship with the flowers some noble thought
Come forth and gather these sweet elves,
Come, come into the wood;
Of these gentle flowers,
Dwell, but with each other keep society:
Gather the primroses,
Make handfuls into posies;
Take them to the little girls who are at work in Or, upon summer earth,
To die, in virgin worth;
Or to be strewn before the bride,
And the bridegroom, by her side.
And with a simple piety,
Are ready to be woven into garlands for the good.
Come forth on Sundays;
Give the children holidays,
(And let these be jolly days,)
Grant freedom to the children in this joyous Worship the God of Nature in your childhood; Worship him at your tasks with best endeavor; Worship him in your sports; worship him ever;
spring; Better men, hereafter,
Worship him in the wildwood;
AGAIN the violet of our early days
Whose dewdrops shall illume with pearly light
Lo! where the rosy-bosomed Hours,
Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch
Beside some water's rushy brink
Still is the toiling hand of care;
The busy murmur glows!
The insect youth are on the wing,
Eager to taste the honeyed spring And float amid the liquid noon : Some lightly o'er the current skim, Some show their gayly gilded trim Quick-glancing to the sun.
To Contemplation's sober eye
And they that creep, and they that fly
Alike the busy and the gay
But flutter through life's little day,
Methinks I hear in accents low
Thy joys no glittering female meets,
SWEETLY BREATHING, VERNAL AIR.
SWEETLY breathing, vernal air,
Thou, if stormy Boreas throws